Smoking and stars 
There's nothing to do, are fascinating. All that was inaudible, incomprehensible and unapproachable fascinating. The cigarette is consumed, the smoke rises elegantly spinning, and you stay there, good good, unpretentious, almost without thinking. Are you just turn them off by looking at the starry sky, without asking anything to anyone, in one of those moments where you're comfortable with yourself in silence, without telling you anything, not wanting you to hear. It continues to follow the gray circles of smoke rising in silence. Suddenly, a glow you see with one eye. There is no doubt it is a shooting star, so, without notice, in the September sky (well ok, you expect that you made a phone call first to alert?!? idiot!). And then you wonder as a child and would like to shout: "There!" - But then ventures, "It's ok, I express that cost me." Lathes not in your thoughts and your cigarette. Smoke rises and your eyes are fixed on top. I see another wonderfully, a trail of powerful, light, regal! Then do the sborone finds expression and say the same desire and if I see another will come for sure. And you're there, the cold of the night on the face. Wait. Draw. You throw the butt, and scrutinize them carefully. Now it is a matter of principle. Then you realize the shit you're doing and the cold you are taking. Enter slam the shutters and put you to bed. "And if not now be realized because of me?" - "What if when I turned my back was the fall?" - "How 'bout being so damn naive and romantic?"
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