...It`s snowing, the boy said. He looked at the sky. A single gray flake sifting down.He caught it in his hand and watched it expire there like the last host of christendom. (From Corman McCarthy, THE ROAD)
May 27, 2005
Me mirè la mano. Se veìa vieja, arraguda. Llena de manchas de la vejez. El telèfono sonò. Levantè el tuno y: "Hola, tengo 47 amos. Puedo llevar a mi muejer?" Y la mano desapereciò.
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