My handwriting is commonly understood to be horrible and allegedly impossible to understand. Most people I know, of the more varied professions, are spending far more hours typing than writing by hand. So the habit is lost, and an already challenging calligraphy becomes absolutely unreadable with the lack of practice, apart from painfully slow.
You come out of the night club. You feel the cold of the night, but you know your body will get warm again after a few minutes of pedalling. You get on your bike and it takes you away from clubland, away from the cars vomiting their music and into the stillness of suburbia.
The road feels peaceful because it is night time, it is silent all around there is no traffic and no one has thrown an empty bottle of Vodka at you in the past three or four months. Biking feels safe, fast, quiet. Silence between the only two beings that matter right now: you and your bike.
Now the task is to make it into an ebook using either Ubuntu or Linux Mint.
Rocas sobre el pueblo,
en castellano más abajo
Castilla looks dry and rough. It looks sad and hard to live here. It may well be; proof of it is that many people have migrated from here to different cities. But cities continue to need bread and it is still here where it comes from.
Hasta donde llega la vista
Un túnel cualquiera.
Montes de cerca,
montes de lejos,