Sitting in the waiting room in front of us there are our old neighbors. The son and his long eyelashes delicate, sad look at the top of a Down mustache, I do not recognize. His mother scared me, yes. We do not love, we are now strangers. Except that. It throws me glances, she stares at my daughter. It must measure the time, evaluate what happened to this baby that I carry everywhere. I can not take my eyes off of her feet that float back and forth a few inches above the ground. Strangely this childish retail brand adds to its authority.
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