As a child lived in a working class neighborhood of narrow streets and houses adhering to one another, through which thieves could escape by jumping across rooftops. Our mothers would not let us play more go beyond the street back for what might happen, was a place somewhat controversial, even so we do not we used to ignore and we had going away for slip into the sports to make mischief. The best moment was when we got together little game to play soccer of the corner lot next to the general at the end of the street, next to a building site that seemed would never end. not had goals and the we did subtly placing two jerseys at a distance, as usually we were only four players with a goal enough and you got goal was changed by I was goalie. Whenever we came home full of bruises, dirty to the eyes and broken knees to end dragged along the ground.
When the sun went our goal was the door of an abandoned garage plate, which made it even more fun to score goals by hitting the ball crash against the metal, a fact for which we had just screaming neighbors.
When the sun went our goal was the door of an abandoned garage plate, which made it even more fun to score goals by hitting the ball crash against the metal, a fact for which we had just screaming neighbors.
In most cases the ball just in embarcao a balcony the neighborhood and we took turns to ring the bell and ask for it back to us.
At school no we enjoyed the luxury of having a ball , but if at least one field and two goals , and the whole class to play. I was the last selected to play, and usually was the one who had to reach into the trash looking for an empty bottle of broken what you end up using as ball was fun, but when as oncoming a bottle in the face hurt mixing and tea stains. remember those times with nostalgia, in my old neighborhood, with my old friends, when our concerns there were no more to achieve the goal and be put for a moment the "fucking love you."
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