Far from Kindle - Go Cuba

I want to read a book, smell the pages and fill the index of saliva for each jump. I want to take a nap with my mother, to leather (with) my friends and play football with the neighborhood chamas. I want to load the tank water, bathe with an ice cube in the morning and drink milk with jam, sour orange with brown sugar or beer (a glass weight) tomato puree.

I see a number of Spanish and crap laugh, I write every post that I have repressed. I want a masajeeeeeeeeee!

I want to go away where no coverage or * 222 #, and the em onths, or ebook, or special morning or custom odd jobs, but a rainbow a red sunset or a few figures made of clouds.

I want my nephew tickle, hug my father and my brother and dawn talk wayyyy Daicar speaking or praying the rosary with Estela Isabel. I want to be far from the fools.

I want to call the little Beatrice to shoot me four or five monosyllables and I want his sister Claudia lie to me again, saying that I did not want “to outer space “(although the twinkle in his eyes say otherwise).

I want to go live on the radio and feel that tachycardia. I want to tune to a TV channel and two stations at once to give journalism pooch Cuban sounds disturb the house. I want there and pa pa the dial here, all I want.

I want to make jokes, winning a standing, “update Kasperky” and smell the fried plantains. I want to tell baseball in my living room or in silence, sitting on the edge of third.

I want to wake embraced you, read you poems Nogueras, Sabines, Serrat, Gelman and Benny sing boleros.

I definitely want to be with others, you and me, lots of “things analog.”