I could draw a picture

I looked at the mirror and a could draw. Maybe two pictures.

The first one, an old man with a write machine, a cigarette on the corner of the mouth. Writing facts of your life with a smile in the face, remembering the crazy things that he had already done. His face is all mess up. Scars all over the place. The chest is open. His hearth almost stopping, beat easy. That black chest was waiting the last word, the last swallow, the last smoke, the last breath.

The second one is a boy. With a squared shirt, a cigarette in one ear and a hole in other. A gun in one hand and a bottle of red wine and other. That boy is that old man.

Nothing more to say about him. I prefer talk about me in the future. If I get there.

“Have you been drinking son? You don’t look old enough to me…” – Riot van – Arctic Monkeys