MOCKERY FOR ALADDIN

A MOCKERY FOR ALADDIN! Last Monday to Congress in Valparaiso, the building where both road is hedoniza, it’s that simple, looked it for snaring, within the global landscape, constituted by an enormous number of street vendors, illegal, sellers offered with their newspaper sheets, extended as magic carpets on the floor, of a cuantuay day Monday morning pedestrians, or zero success. And I promised myself to write of his affliction. Today with these air currents that transminan you, I look at it and take mental note Claro, them, potential customers, pass without looking as Chinese Urquidi singer of the sixties, I would say go earrings to the day with the Internet, not reaching behind the downside, blessing of the sky, as recompose the clandestine departure on Friday, in the giro for the son who studies in Timbuktu, and more over are going to be looking to the street bazaars? going back to him, the last time he walked in a taxi, and the First, it was when he drove one in de panne, and the driver thanked him for the gesture directing it. He believes that the kani-kama is also a Muslim leader and relative of Obama, and not the surrogate King crab. In this regard, a cashier of the leader sitting beside me where eating a salad green with this invention of the gourmet, more mushrooms, told me: the mushrooms ubico them, but so exquisite rojitas stuff I see them pass by the box, but I can not buy them, would be a luxury, but that rich are meditating about it, and that my pileup was parked on a distant hillside to avoid payment of the parking meter, is that I’m starting to fix on what sells this Aladdin made in Uruguay with Columbus: an obsoletisimo cell phone charger, a game of GO, Japanese with their Board broken, probably collecting a jar of garbage of some dreamy owner of Sushi, and with fewer parts, so it looks the same as incomplete of the seller, a retired chauchera dentureWhat never had beyond thousand pesos in coins in his guatita, more micro tickets and some forgotten contraceptive dragee, a battery powered radio that doesn’t work and whose needle on dial, and its original owner, stayed stuck in the Festival Radio listening to the Festivalazo, a pair of shoes of guagua brand Calpany, imprecise number more worn that if your usantea “Guagua”, well, would have been around the world with them, and to keep.