13:57

Tomei o isqueiro da mão dele e acendi o meu cigarro. A cada tragada, a fumaça permanecia mais tempo nos meus pulmões. 

- Cara. É o seu quarto hoje.
- Foda-se.
Eu sabia que ia ficar cuspindo meus brônquios mais tarde. Mas então pensei: será que eu estarei aqui mais tarde?

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