They await, await no identity, without papers proving that not even his name. They have one, but perhaps not yours. They were kidnapped long ago, recruited for war as children, even when they did not have enough memory. They are nothing. There are no. Expect.
The poverty of these people are just fixing up the minor details of my computer, as my sunglasses. For me there are no, his invisible. Not like my Swiss watch which I have removed and replaced by plastic that was in this forecast
We ordered two glasses of wine. Viene. He puts on the table and abruptly says in a whisper "baby is gone" (the baby is gone). He says point-blank, as spitting sadness, as we look to shake her hands compulsively. No loss of half smile even announcing that his son is dead.
Perhaps this post will be understood only with the eight pictures and the holder. There are many stories that raisins and some stories that you stay. The circus of children with AIDS is one of those stories that hit you, by Javier BRANDOLI.
I realize I'm a nerd who teach the same story of misery and repeated to get the money. It is certain poverty; there is throughout the country, but here is a photo souvenir trades