"... Caminante, no hay camino / are made by walking ..."
last reread his favorite poem before you go. Sun swung to a halt when he decided it was time to leave. On the other hand we expect a better life, or at least promised that the welcoming signs of the city.
walked nostalgic than the stones they told an anecdote. Still hoped that the line did not adversely affect the life of their fate, but could not mistaken, the route totomorrow is often too long, deep and clueless as to bring and carry news. It autoconvenció that should not matter, it would be worthwhile. He had to earn it.
arrived at the entrance to the city, with pupils from neon burning. A look into the journey enough to realize all that was left behind. Between the uncertainty of the unknown appeared true, perhaps the only one she acompañaríaa along his adventure: he was face to face with the future. For the first time everything depended on it, each step tendon
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