I should write something great. To look good. This is my first short story. But it doesn't matter if I write it good or bad, or you people would find it interesting enough.So I will write about an ordinary day of my life.

9.30 Today I woke up a little late than usual which means a shorter breakfast, a quick shower, coffee..

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16.00 again clients and more papers, yet time to chat with friends

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21.30 watching a film witch I wanted to see from a long time

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01.00 my eyes are dropping from sleep
Now that my sleep is mixing softly but consistent within my thoughts.
I stand at the edge of the black sea that's waving on my sealing and ask myself: What happened with the time? With my time? Is like a broken mechanism and now the figures are running crazy on the quadrant of the clock. What is my life? Maybe a reflection of others...and still in the back of the image stands something real, concrete and tangible. I stand and ask myself what happened with the endless days of autumn when I had time for everybody, for myself ,and yet remained 'me free time. But somebody broke the mechanism. the running of the hours is marked by that TIT, so inhuman, so cold; just for me to to pay attention that is like are passing minutes.I don't get to put my thoughts in order that my mobile prepares to vibrate and sound the announce for me to be awake. It's morning and I am opening my eyes wide, in searching of my lost sleep. Was I awake?

9.30 Today I woke up a little late than usual witch means a shorter breakfast, a quick shower, coffee..