I remember my grandfather sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, watching Labordeta sending people to hell or the backpack, or watching old black and white film with a lousy audio. The rocking chair creaked with their rhythmic movements. My grandmother sat in another chair, but did not move, and doing cross stitch and occasionally say something, looked at my grandfather, smiling, and seguíaa his own.
My grandfather also fell from time to time at the carnage, grabbed knives and sharpening poníaa. It was the only thing left to do now. That and remember the order of the ingredients of the skewers. & Qrcaba him at first did not recognize me, but then let me give you a kiss and I wondered about.
At noon, when they ate, I subíaa see them. And my grandfather was sitting in the chair eating a soup, my grandmother with the food cart on the side. I always offered to eat with them and I never accepted.
Now I repent. The rocker and Labordeta chirríay not been silenced for ever, like my grandfather, but was never very talkative. When I saw the coffin I squeezed her hand to Harvey and said, "I believe my grandfather was higher." I could out of my mind. CHTML
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