is logical, it is summer, half of the writing is on vacation, nothing happens in politics, there is a fair court, there is no idea to throw shit copada Kristina, and yet be filled eighty pages of a newspaper.
Then someone comes up to make a note to a perfume. Copada idea seems, especially if you read "Perfume" by Suskind.
Yet Clarín boys end up doing this:
In this ineffable
note, the boy Daniel Dos Santos leaves us with the question of whether he was doing really alive or gone without a questionnaire and asked what she pleased. Because, seriously, you can not have a front and ask what perfume smells like the collective. Above the note begins with the phrase "lost in the wind Geranium stability", and I swear to God I do not understand what the hell that means. Paragraph deserves the pose of the perfumer, halfway between Junco Oggy and the Cirque Du Soleil.
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