agonia portugues v3 |
Agonia.Net | Regras | Mission | Contato | Participar | ||||
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
||
![]() |
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() | |||||
Artigo Comunidades Concurso Crônica Multimídia Pessoais Poesia Imprensa Prosa _QUOTE Roteiro Especial | ||||||
![]() |
|
|||||
![]() |
agonia ![]()
■ A 8th Bienal do Douro sem limites ![]()
Romanian Spell-Checker ![]() Contato |
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-11-06 | [Este texto deve ser lido em english] | Submetido por Lory Cristea
They found him in a phone booth, huddled,
frail as a fetus, shivering in the cold. The problem, he said, was that when he began to take off his clothes for the usual transformation, the blue and red suit with the yellow "S" emblazoned across the front, just wasn't there. He couldn't believe it, he said, and kept disrobing when he was assaulted by a transient who took the pile of clothes. He insisted that no one tell Lois as they led him away covered by a wool blanket, babbling incoherently to the air in front of him, remembering how things used to be.
|
||||||||
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
|||
![]() | |||||||||
![]() |
Portal de Literatura, Poesia e Cultura. Escreva e desfrute os artigos, crônicas, prosa, poesia clássica e concursos. | ![]() | |||||||
![]() |
A reprodução de qualquer material sem a nossa permissão é estritamente proibida.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net
E-mail | Regras para publicação e de privacidade