Tom Waits sings to Muriel while my brain accommodating floats in the whiskey I drank last night. It´s kinda Funny how despite I should suffering an impious hangover, I just awoke from a superb humor.
Even the pitifully pathetic pseudo pretentious messages issued by those who have just three neurons wich fight each other, fail to shake the welfare attached to my dry skin.
The mirror is also in a good mood. Today doesn´t spat in my face that I'm getting old, that I'm so bad manager until I spend out of life faster than others.
The water for coffee can´t endure the tickling fire and began to laugh with bubbles.
I feel so good that I´ll wash the french press before use it.
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