And she was there in that torrid Sunday morning

....all of a sudden, with her disaffected emotions like in a Paul Auster's postmodern fiction, waiting for the mistaken appearance of the troubled character (me), to force a morbid cohabitation with impractical old things. At first glance we both grasped the idea of an unpleasant coexistence, but her hefty baggage of dark chronicles seduced me again, and as in the mode of The New York Trilogy, a group of stories with unfinished ends awaited for me. She is an opportunist with a non-sanctum past, but ready to take the most vibrant trip: the one that nobody expects.Olympia SM29 typewriter, on my desk.Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile