The Sunday. is boring. Dad is on the couch.
Do you want a tattoo? – I ask with a pen in my hand.
Just like a little boy, fine, paint!
I paint him like a mandala. He is far from an artist. It seemed not bad. After a while, I approach my father, look at his foot, and "tatto" lightened.
You washed my mandala?
When you were a kid, you were a soap.
Second stupor and mother's wild rust, and then us
The main thing is to find what to answer.