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Sun, torment and smell of asphalt ...

The smell of wet asphalt had slowly crept into the nostrils of Miss Wilson before having clear in his head, which, in fact, it was raining.

The melancholic view framed the door of the living room window, was very appropriate to his mood.
The abrupt climatic change in the skies of Luminaria was not only comparable to those that repeatedly had "suffered" at Dusk , but also to what was happening in something less comprehensive and global in the sky: the his heart. The

maintained the curious chain swing between what he wanted, and what he wanted and felt he had reached exceeded the maximum permitted load.

In the fall Miss Wilson, who was also able to smile at that (in the) endless oscillation, had lost a lot ... in the face of loss, the biggest acquisition was to walk again along a straight line.
I would have done so alone as in company.
He would gaze turned back to join a purely emotional repentance, he would have understood, of course, but no longer pursued .

desires of Miss Wilson had oltreppassato its ability to restrain, not to deny, but to postporli in a vaguely near future.
History repeated: Barcelona today, as Prague yesterday.