are exactly seven days that I left. And I'm set.
So what is the bus that takes me downtown, I know next to what is what brings me back to the hostel.
I made my space-time in the hostel and then I can get my privacy even in a place that, by definition, means the casino and promiscuity.
I rebuilt a sort of routine. In the morning, 3 slices of bread, butter and jam, a glass of tropical juice, a cup of coffee and one or two, depending on the time and desire, bowls of milk and muesli.
Then I go to the bathroom and take a shower and start the day. I have the
my coffee, my pub and my paths (possibly leading to the pub or cafe) ... so I'm breaking balls and I can hide and not show it. I can not wait to start working again.
Yesterday I saw a thing out of my logic.
Abstract: my logic rule out football. Any discussion that covers the game becomes boring to me, confused and starts the long run the nausea and the brain starts to leak from your ears ... the end of the Foreword.
On television I saw a lot of "International rules" ... what?
God lightning if I know (and in any event would give any sign of life down here ... there people waiting for some time ...). It should be a mix of Gaelic football, rugby, and football.
In practice, a high-protein group of practical jokers do not have incisors that if by merrily with the excuse to make points, Mah ...
It is true that the Irish have a ruling of their own. Right? In English we say "RAIT". An Irishman will tell you "Roit. An Australian software instead
preliminary "Softuei" instead of "softuer" ... that strange people is that people in hostels.
Today for the first time I really felt a stranger.
I went into a Tesco (a supermarket) and I went out completely demoralized.
I have not found anything that I say "Buy me! Cucinami! Eat me! "... Dunno ... no cheese or grated cheese, tomato puree it.
Now, do not begin to break the embankments with the usual story of Italians who go abroad and continue to make the Italians.
Christ, I am Italian? I'm used to eating three ounces of pasta for lunch? Not that crossed the border to my stomach changing habits and starting to live traditional Irish stew and steak 8oz do good to my gut, and above all become Irish.
I become an asshole in Italian and the international breaks to make your stomach with something that is not used. Got it? And
think that I had come to buy some wet wipes to solve the problem ... I came out of the bidet demoralized and did not solve anything ... shit and shower, an indissoluble.
So what is the bus that takes me downtown, I know next to what is what brings me back to the hostel.
I made my space-time in the hostel and then I can get my privacy even in a place that, by definition, means the casino and promiscuity.
I rebuilt a sort of routine. In the morning, 3 slices of bread, butter and jam, a glass of tropical juice, a cup of coffee and one or two, depending on the time and desire, bowls of milk and muesli.
Then I go to the bathroom and take a shower and start the day. I have the
my coffee, my pub and my paths (possibly leading to the pub or cafe) ... so I'm breaking balls and I can hide and not show it. I can not wait to start working again.
Yesterday I saw a thing out of my logic.
Abstract: my logic rule out football. Any discussion that covers the game becomes boring to me, confused and starts the long run the nausea and the brain starts to leak from your ears ... the end of the Foreword.
On television I saw a lot of "International rules" ... what?
God lightning if I know (and in any event would give any sign of life down here ... there people waiting for some time ...). It should be a mix of Gaelic football, rugby, and football.
In practice, a high-protein group of practical jokers do not have incisors that if by merrily with the excuse to make points, Mah ...
It is true that the Irish have a ruling of their own. Right? In English we say "RAIT". An Irishman will tell you "Roit. An Australian software instead
preliminary "Softuei" instead of "softuer" ... that strange people is that people in hostels.
Today for the first time I really felt a stranger.
I went into a Tesco (a supermarket) and I went out completely demoralized.
I have not found anything that I say "Buy me! Cucinami! Eat me! "... Dunno ... no cheese or grated cheese, tomato puree it.
Now, do not begin to break the embankments with the usual story of Italians who go abroad and continue to make the Italians.
Christ, I am Italian? I'm used to eating three ounces of pasta for lunch? Not that crossed the border to my stomach changing habits and starting to live traditional Irish stew and steak 8oz do good to my gut, and above all become Irish.
I become an asshole in Italian and the international breaks to make your stomach with something that is not used. Got it? And
think that I had come to buy some wet wipes to solve the problem ... I came out of the bidet demoralized and did not solve anything ... shit and shower, an indissoluble.
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