Iron Maiden is sounding in the hi-fi. The verses of Charlotte the harlot speak through it. “Charlotte youve got your legs in the air” Then, as if a spell has been toned, you move your two legs up awkwardly and finally they fall returning again to the floor. You look at the clock. It’s so late and you’re so tired... so stand up and return to the sweet house of dreams since it’s better than standing awake. Bitter taste of pills in your tongue that makes the throat has a beautiful erection of fluids but you avoid it.

The clothes you wear are dark like the night that soon will be dying in the dawn “Taking so many men to your room, dont you feel no remorse?” You sigh. It’s late, you know, you don’t want to think. So many men faces crossed your skin that it’s difficult to count them. Last one is still there hurting you; well, but it's also being devoured by you. The necessity to be loved is beating your mind. Alcoholic life surrounded by drugs, emptiness, loneliness, parks and wet grass. Last smiles are floating in the fictitious sky of the memory. They are pretty fuzzy. Your vent sucks out the remains of the liquid. A cough, nothing more emits the corpse.  “Charlotte youve got your legs in the air, dont you hear all the laughter?”