Frio.
O termómetro marcava treze graus centígrados. Treze graus lá fora, na minha rua. Finalmente.
"So that I may say at all times, even when you do not answer and perhaps hear nothing, something of this is being heard, I am not merely talking to myself [...]." (Samuel Beckett, Happy Days)
O termómetro marcava treze graus centígrados. Treze graus lá fora, na minha rua. Finalmente.
posted by Finn @ 23:38
[...] something of this is being heard [...]
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