Carlos del Puente textos
The eyes, those two little parasites, were progressively corroding the skin of his face. By Carlos del Puente
viernes, diciembre 06, 2024 "You know what's weird?" Sam mused, flipping through the channels on the dusty old TV set in his grandpa's garage. His voice echoed through the cluttered space, punctuated by the static of dead airwaves. "What's that, buddy?" Grandpa Joe glanced up from his workbench, his hands stained with oil and grease. Sam leaned closer to the flickering screen, his curiosity piqued. "These TV...
