This is an artist uses a palette stale hookah cognac color and inhabits an old window boharda where an old clock mumbles: tic tac ... Lying in the long run on an invalid furniture, a long yawn, and another and another: three! Devil boy, scrawny poor devil, but the old bourgeois slumber! Near him, pretending cigars the brushes on the color palette strange: its finishing touches were two carnations for a table on matters of love. Near a black pencil Faber enristra family as a pin tip, there is smell of sweat and body odor, no smell of drowsiness and scent of a woman. Suker smoke Olvera, Olvera Suker smoked in a hookah cognac color, and look at some pictures full of mist on a fact that was near the Rimac. The artist reads. Reading not overwhelming, and fog glasses placed on the nose; Suker loves books, is horrible to the lie, and all gray mask things. His evil is the same as the homeless: fatigue, neurosis, anemia moral, funny feelings, dreams wandering wandering in search of a vague ideal. Think, Pt, humor he manages. Want to paint, color is everything! Have joy, have creativity, and makes a gesture of interest if he hears talk about love. Watch an old painting without thinking about anything, look at the ceiling, smoke, flowers, the sea, a British ship that has long anchored and started a watercolor medium. A escritorillo on the cover a bouquet of roses dripping pleasure and a modern work, torn open, showing her charms as a woman. The artist reads. Reading not overwhelmed: Suker is a bit foolish Tartarin; Suker loves books, looks horrible lie and die in silence, boredom, spleen. Sweat soaked the gold thick straight hair that collects the sun, and open to air kiss the pores of the face smeared with alcohol inks. Y while the heart fills a stale joke, that the original out gracefully, a fashionable flower dies of weariness over the flap where the eye. Irons are waiting for the bath potassium a picture of autumn and a gray spot, a oleograph of a classical poet gestures and bright eyes of Miss Stone. Suker smoked, smoked in a hookah Suker color cognac, and terminally ill a long haze, he hears an old clock that says: tic tac ... Think, Pt, humor he manages. Want to find paint color! It has joy, creativity and goggles have fog on the nose. So time passes. Solo, only the fourth ... Just Suker, without speaking. What? Lazy and bored as a large lizard, hopes and lives of faith. A live begins, there where the father served as art, she writes it does not want to invade their emotions plasma laziness with pen, ink or block. Years ago on the night train and a car last left his hometown. Life ... Its sorrows and joys. Chocheces old! You suffer, you're happy. Why? Because! You suffer, you're happy ... And that takes a year ... and another year ... What the devil! Life is like that ... And my life is that ...