The rustling woke him right in the middle of a peaceful sleep. Was uncovered and looked at his hand. The clock said 4.00 am and his wife slept in the midst of calm, oblivious to the strange intrusion. Because some bastard had gone into the kitchen of his house and was rummaging (probably someone had spoken) in the sugar jar containing his savings, those American dollars had decided not to deposit in the bank.
Fortunately, the caliber revolver 32 was close, kept in the drawer of the bedside table for a long time ago and did not release. Now finally going to debut. It was while he was looking forward to these friends of the alien, these thieves of shit he was going to teach them a lesson they would not forget.
And then decided to go down. After taking a couple of serves of cocaine to take heart, on tiptoe, slipped down the stairs, careful not to make noise. In the kitchen window watched the thief, a robust figure and plump texture that moved stealthily in the dark. Toned and decided, without waiting a moment longer, he said and opened fire. All contents of the magazine of his gun entered the head of the stranger. With a refect Rapla, was quick to turn on the light. The scene was pathetic, something did not fit: he was out of order. Briefly recalled an old issue of Caetano Veloso in his mind until he marched a thousand pictures and thoughts became a script for a horror movie. Recalled diabetes mellitus, a ban on sweets, insulin, cocaine and constant struggles against deprivation of certain diets. He thought of his children and looked at the subject scattered on the floor. Still clutched in their hands a stiff pot of dulce de leche. While Therefore, alerted by the blasts, his wife went downstairs and was about to enter the kitchen, but he stopped short and then wiping a wet white pebble hanging from his nose he said quietly: "Do not go in, just sweet kill my father. "
Fortunately, the caliber revolver 32 was close, kept in the drawer of the bedside table for a long time ago and did not release. Now finally going to debut. It was while he was looking forward to these friends of the alien, these thieves of shit he was going to teach them a lesson they would not forget.
And then decided to go down. After taking a couple of serves of cocaine to take heart, on tiptoe, slipped down the stairs, careful not to make noise. In the kitchen window watched the thief, a robust figure and plump texture that moved stealthily in the dark. Toned and decided, without waiting a moment longer, he said and opened fire. All contents of the magazine of his gun entered the head of the stranger. With a refect Rapla, was quick to turn on the light. The scene was pathetic, something did not fit: he was out of order. Briefly recalled an old issue of Caetano Veloso in his mind until he marched a thousand pictures and thoughts became a script for a horror movie. Recalled diabetes mellitus, a ban on sweets, insulin, cocaine and constant struggles against deprivation of certain diets. He thought of his children and looked at the subject scattered on the floor. Still clutched in their hands a stiff pot of dulce de leche. While Therefore, alerted by the blasts, his wife went downstairs and was about to enter the kitchen, but he stopped short and then wiping a wet white pebble hanging from his nose he said quietly: "Do not go in, just sweet kill my father. "
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