Madrid is to listen to my nonsense on the terrace while he rolled a cigarette, is talking with R i M of the party that nobody knows about our childhood, Rolex is the Lord and is to appear and disappear from the bed of R, is iced tea with mint and carrot cake, is fanning day and night, I burn the soles of sandals and an appreciation of desorden.Madrid is I have took the plane and not coji.Madrir is the bar, this book, children from India, the number seven to be Yoko Ono for a few seconds.
