soo many informations. soo many tastes. spend my day kissing these guys:
and found out that, if i had known the basic things that a first aid training teaches you, maybe my grandmother wouldn't have died suffocated in my arms. poor poor romanian girls's bad luck, isn't that ironic? sometimes you just don't HAVE THE INFORMATION. i was so fucking angry- no even angry, but astonished, while somebody was explaining us what you should do in case that the person is not breathing anymore... and I JUST DIDN'T HAVE THAT INFORMATION. what to do in case that person's not breathing anymore. is that so hard to make a fuckin first aid training in schools, or something like that? make the information go around? ok. so i kissed those guys and made their chests go up and down, their plastic chests.

then walked, through the london scraps. found out about congo. found out about sorrow. found out about god. found out about the public toilets. found out about saudade. found out about the transparent offices and houses. about walls of concrete. about hundreds of people passing by and looking down. about the boats on thames. about laughter. about ioana. about people. about chris james. about lager. about a concert. about about orlando harrison. seems like an ordinary day, another one.