Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Is Market Sphere A Scam

Santa Pamela

Avenue, I take Maipú Alberto Hurtado, the sun is dying in the distance. I remember the map I saw on the internet, look for the intersection that I established as reference and way there. I eyeing the names of the streets and worried that lurk in the corners.

I approach a woman who comes down the hill, down the street asked Carlos Ibanez del Campo. She says something in a low voice so low that I was happy with his outstretched arm pointing to the hill.
start to go up the passage, which is so steep that I upload almost crawling, which added to the weight of my backpack, gives me a figure cuasimodesca. The neighborhood looks recognize me outside, so hasten the pace.

Finally I get home I want, hit a rickety wooden door. A young woman looks out the window, I will listen with their eyes, ask me who I am and why I come. Which makes me feel almost like a subversive giving a password. After hearing my name and why I opened the door.

The room straight out of a painting by Dalí. This living-turned-bedroom / living room looks like an ode to kitsch, the computer is used as a kind of rack. She takes a claim to the air by the disorder of his brother, I ask about the color of the shoes are next to the monitor. She blushes, we looked and laughed at the pink evidence. I see a denim jacket with sequins on the printer, I wonder if it is also his brother, laughs and admits that she is.

I look around, the walls are covered with a kind of wallpaper spent. The wooden floor creaks with each step I take. From the wall a Virgin Mary looks at me ruefully, while Pamela Anderson, his companion of the wall, hits me with a lewd pose. Wall of contradictions, but perhaps more honest than any church. Cavilo that, to kneel, I fixed Pamela.

She asked me what could be the problem. I tell him I disassemble the computer, to determine with certainty the cause of failure. In the absence of a table gives me the bed. For a second my mind flashes, hot. I make an effort to get a smile on my face not dilute professionalism.

Suddenly she supports his knees and his hands on the bed, trying to see what I do, while still bombarding me with questions, which now include personal issues. The pain in my back makes me pause, I'm stopping and looking up, I run into her eyes. She looks at me with the innocent playfulness of a naughty child.

Going down to the avenue, he saw the city in all its splendor. Even when the cold hits my face, my body stays warm.

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