a day in Skikda

As before at the age of youth, just escape my douar can not offer me ... ... So I spent my days in Skikda watching the windows of the shop windows, libraries like to attend a hungry looking water. I took a rest in the place or somewhere in the arcade and a cafe reading the newspaper.
If my wallet allows, I do not deprive a good meal in a restaurant, if not I'll take a bowl of chickpea cueillere a more olive oil and a piece of traditional bread. In the evening perhaps cinema attracts me, or talk with a friend. The day ends quietly pushes me to my pit, forgiveness gastonville rejoicing. Here in my douar, it's different life is simple, natural, soft as the resonance of the flute and the drum and both hard to overwork like climbing a cliff. I have no choice my roots are stable