Years as we pass over these funky earth-moving machinery to handle the tough skilled workers engaged in building highways that cross flat and fast the ground of all our regions and by extension our country, and are making their mark in every face and every body as the initial taping love and hearts with a punch in the bark of an ancient tree. Nobody escapes this sort of curse, and who for genetic or contacts in the world of plastic surgery delayed for some time now the time to see the telltale wrinkles on their faces can not stop the rot age and wear on the inside as it inexorably with all my neighbors.
Time, which draws us to the hairs to the grave instead of staying very still in watches, has a specific offense for each stage of life: it punishes children with a kind of temporary stunting and a lack of criteria that prevents them fend for themselves and adults marry or maintain informal engagements with them without pushing them to a destination a hundred times worse than death and vote at general or municipal elections and referendums without using a fake ID, makes teens beings full of grains and complex who has inexplicable force to line their wallets with pictures of bad actors shirtless in the case of belonging to what has traditionally been called the female and spend long hours locked in the bathroom bodies exploring their newly released if they belong to the male hair brings out in the pits nose, shoulders and backs of middle-aged men while passing leaves bald and condemned to a life of toil and hardship and distorts the once swarthy bodies of their wives up devoid of any appeal, which will not very painful to them, I say, because they are too busy washing dishes and raising children who can not fend for themselves as to think seduce or impress anyone, and makes what the poet called old of both sexes in quivering heaps osteoporotic bones, skin and luckily who has abandoned reason preventing realize how sad it is their fate.
The calendar is a cruel object that counts the days that pass leaving its burden of pain on our shoulders, but those who stay until the date on which things can not get worse and death come and put their vile icing on the cake of misfortune is all existence. And the fierce and unforgiving nature God did not simply that we be aware of how embarrassing stage of development we are and how close or far is the black fate at the end of the journey awaits us: so or perhaps part of a macabre and senseless game have caused anyone to get an idea of \u200b\u200bhow young or old we are with only one second to look in the face and calculate the lifetime telling us we have left gray hair and wrinkles and making a simple rule of three and a couple of multiplications without decimals. The worst thing is not being a decrepit old man, a man whose tomorrow is gray point by point today and like his suspiciously similar to yesterday, a pimply teenager and memo ignores the most basic rules of etiquette and paste to your colleagues or is beaten on a daily basis by them or a child without physical strength or ability to reason and autonomy of action comparable to that of an old motorcar out of gas, but everyone told him you can know and have no way to deny that you belong to a of these four clubs without seeing shameful forced to admit, implicitly or explicitly that you are a member in good standing of any of the other and you've been or almost entirely likely and over the years will be a member of each and every one of the other.
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