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Post unsubstantiated

The eleven opened at 17.00 landed the plane from Stockholm to Copenhagen airport. In came, returning earlier than expected and the Kingdom of Denmark, a plaintive Ricardo (I), with stomach pains.
Much has happened since the last post. It is raining figuratively, because they are doing some very sunny days (too much perhaps because the sun rises at half past four), hot, often windy, very nice. Yesterday, taking advantage of the weather and the huge amount of free time we enjoy Roskilde went to a picnic. We took the covers (this is also figuratively, because now that I think we had no blankets) in the park beside the cathedral, we took bread, ham, cheese and apples, and which chapter of The Five, we were there in the afternoon. Then we ate ice cream and back home.
Last night we had a barbecue in honor of several birthdays. We lit two fires, fuel which was an old mattress that I helped to destroy. Meat, chips, etc.. The party was very good. Marianne went to walk around Korallen, and we had fun in the Danish Kitchen ass playing (card game) with some Danes. When we returned to the party, she had changed nature due to unscrew and open hoses. Having regard to the calico, I retreated to my room.
room that is in shambles. I am writing from the couch. To my left is the unmade bed, his pajamas, dirty clothes, messy blankets, hat and scarf. Before the table is cluttered with papers, and even window cleaning sim (I forgot to post in this blog nefarious April 1 graciosillos I painted a window on the outside, because that day is the day of the innocent for the French) . On the right is still a crowded mattress sheets, dirty clothes, clean clothes, and even Stockholm backpack still half undone. Behind me, piece of furniture in wood, lies a giant Toblerone White, whose presence soothes me.

- MESITA IN THE GARDEN OF Korall. And NOTE THE SUNLIGHT -

Future plans: After publishing this unsubstantiated post, I'll go look for your room Pasquale; cross some pessimistic and sorrowful words, and we go to the bar. Spend an afternoon in the library trying to write a five-page speech, and then invited me to a cafe on the lake. The thing looks good, but should contribute something. In The Five always had pastries, but I still do not know what are the pastries. Again I
old ways, friends and fellow readers. I still have two months lost in Roskilde.

C00021a The Verification

Dalia

few months ago I started to describe to people here who, in one way or another have been and are important to me. It's time to continue. Time, relentless, will not give me respite. On the horizon in June. On Saturday there was

Dalia. The poor had no farewell with hoses or tears. It is also true that he moved only fifteen miles from here, to live with their parents. He left there a year ago, and paid Korallen sought a dishwasher job. So the week went to school in Copenhagen and on weekends to work at Roskilde. Dalia
is a Muslim rebel. Her hair is covered, but his father did not tolerate the proscribed guys (why she left home.) Bring a gold medal with a verse from the Koran to protect it.
I used to go see it before bedtime. We stayed chatting in his room for hours, and you could talk to her about whatever, including rough or sensitive topics such as religion. With a cigar in his hand, told me his house in Kirkuk, the sources filled with fruit, his grandfather would wake up very early to water the plants, when he went with his friends to the ice cream. Told me about a trip he took to Baghdad in secret from their parents. And I had to when The warning sirens woke bombarded the city. His father disappeared from his life because he pursued the war, and when he reappeared he was to take it to Denmark, with her eleven years. Now is nineteen, and when once at a party someone gave the alarm of fire, she woke up with a panic attack to remember the sirens of war.
A constant theme in our conversations was a guy I was dating a few months ago, with which it fought a lot, now engaged to another girl, and she wants to distraction. Dalia have been very terrible stories worthy of the most gruesome soap opera. I have seen more times Dalia mourn smile.
Sometimes a dish cooked in Iraq, and always gave me a little. I gave the lamp that I stole into the castle of Hamlet, because when I showed it told me that the smell reminded him of his home in Kirkuk. She loved butterflies and flowers, Arabic music (I already know the sad memory of Iraq Top Forty), and Bollywood films. Dalia
liked talking to people, and falling asleep in beds outside, lulled by the voices of others and with the light on (it scares the dark). And Dalia not only speaks: listens with eyes wide open every word someone says. Dalia
is pure sweetness. Sometimes he stole cigarettes to Mary but apart from that, it was impossible not to love, it is impossible not wanting to follow and it will be impossible to forget.