SNIFF.

“You are obsessed with bottles.” – they said.

Waiting for a roe salad in the cultural and recreational association. Sitting on the right side, two tables ahead, the dealer who sells blow 70 euros a gram is complaining that the chicken fried “à passarinho” hasn’t got any sauce or garlic. Sitting with her, three other dingy guys, who probably don’t shower for at least 4/5 days. I haven’t seen the dealer with other clothes than her black tatters and black hat with a more than dried rose. Piruças thinks he’s a smart ass but tomorrow he’ll see. Suddenly a song is being played on the cell phone of a child sitting on the dealer’s table. The child is complaining on how few games her phone has. One of the guys says a remark on how lucky she is, there are lots of small children who can only play with rocks, while the little girl suspiciously watches him. I’ll never work on this place again. Fuck this shit. I’m tired of working. Morons, criminals and more morons thinking they are important. The salad, that should cost 4 euros, costs 8.