To Occident of the Paradise (63). Once in a while she looked at me sideways, she opened the legs and it showed me the bikini.

Mentally I sang the music, Scarborough Fair of Simon & Garfunkel that revived in the sad days, lost and never recovered in Quixico.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

Remember me to one who lives there

She once was a true love of mine

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather

(War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions)

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

(Generals order their soldiers to kill)

And to gather it all in a bunch of heather

(And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten)

Then she'll be a true love of mine

http://letras.terra.com.br/simon-and-garfunkel/36251/traducao.html

When somebody asked him on certain document, he searched her secretary - that was enormous - and it was long to find it, because they were mountains of papers on the whole side. Then to have the fame of big disorganized.

One day, while he was absent for two days, I remembered the idea of putting all of the documents in folders, organized for themes and in alphabetical order. The secretary was completely empty. When he returned was shocked:

- Wow! But, and now as it is that will work?!

- Mr Figueira says the subject and quickly we found the document in the folders.

- With this it didn't count, I never saw a thing of these… my congratulations.

However, they admitted a youth friend for the mechanographical services. Beautiful and with a brutal mini-skirt, she felt turns to the head, because it occupied a secretary even ahead of my eyes. Once in a while she looked at me sideways, she opened the legs and it showed me the bikini. This started to be my daily torment.

He was not still completely adapted to the civilian life. He continued to lose the calm, and of growing weak for any thing. Until that I noticed that all of the friends believed that it was crazy. The depreciative comments were constant. Until some friends when he approached they laughed her. Mr. Figueira felt with sadness that I was marginalized. The administrator also agreed that there was a nut in the services. No longer it felt comfortable, he didn't know more than to do.

Mr. Figueira did years, and they organized him a small homage party. As he didn't have money to buy him a gift, I decided to compose a poem and that I presented him:

He always exists one day

his day

As well as they exist years

and also silences

Maybe that the thick fog of the infinite

of the time he vanishes

And the time remembers itself

He always exists one day