The
Cretul is a small town north of a river weird name, a strange city, referring to non-existent physical geography and current, but there was there, I know many cities without having set foot in but this is unprecedented, there is no picture that made me imagine, there is no internet reference or you can conquer and defile their minds improvised, there is a scent that brings to it, or the boutique, or on the prairies, or in bars or in the temples, there is only Cretul, without armies or currencies without appearances or illusions but with bars and churches, with men and women who are neither beautiful nor ugly but men and women bicycles and cars to those who work very well your turn regardless of the model and brand, because it is very clear who drives whom: men and women to their models and brands, not vice versa, the owners of portfolios full and half empty but always clear who owns whom: the man who owned the wallet and not the other way ... (this part I miss the women). Cretul
not need tourist agencies or promoters Siamese fairs in a jar, its peak has passed all times.
sometimes hear whispers distant barking of a train slowly wake me up at 4 am, then a fruit and flower market where strange odors are also heard, a wave that comes and goes to the town as if floating in oceans, I get the feeling that nostalgia of the destination and want to sew that piece of time between the sheets, so that even when wash with forgetting to hang on the clothesline of a city incrétula.