Y Los Conserjes De Noche

The stations would have something to tell, something the airport terminals will say, the bars where five of our songs were born, the nights when your girl would say never again. Something of us remained in those places, in the ladies' restroom and at the port, in the cinema seat, in a metro entrance, and in all those corners we used to turn. It's a story that is written in the doorways, the brief intensity of the first lights, and the night concierges take care of the hostels and all the waitresses who wanted to listen. The steps would have something to tell with pants dragged on the floor, something the back seat of your car offered me and the ashtray smoke that ended up overflowing. It's a story. You were always ready, it's Sunday afternoon, luck is a top-quality whore and the night concierges take care of the hostels and all the waitresses who wanted to listen. It's a story that is written in the postcards with the need to wake up early on Mondays.