Amanda_Palmer_Machete

This poem is halfway between David Allen and Charles Bukowski.

Madre mía, está siendo difícil encontrar el tiempo para contarlo, sobre todo por algo que sucedió durante el viaje, pero en Murcia.

Somebody makes a pseudo-stupid joke at my son Quique in the street —something I’ll never understand. Pablo looks at me with his best “what the hell just happened, did you get it?” and our telepathy fails for a moment, and I have to make do with expressing my thoughts with words, and in front of