Lucky Luke, Pat Garrett and Emilio Estevez in "Young shotguns' are just some of my childhood idols, which you probably never would have met a real cowboy would not passion Loco. While other fathers recorded on vhs s subsequent episodes of 'extradition', my swallowed and devoured countless amounts of outright westerns. When collecting antlers and other souvenirs from the spa, he was finding real leather, American saddle with plates engraved with the words 'Billy Cook Saddles' and other decorative bajerami. It is true that long ago wanted to be an Indian Loco (I read even a few books on Siouxach and Cheyenne'ach), but I think it went something wrong with some beautiful squaw, he quickly crossed the barricades and forever turned away from the red brethren. And I, willy-nilly, I grew up in such conditions and in retrospect I must say that has been able to resist cowboy mania - I think that is safe to say that dreams of being a cowboy, drained of milk ...
father :-) I remember how, years ago we were sitting in Nowicy with Loco and the 'Polish Dylan' Ark, only three of us, listening to Neil Young, watched movies about the Wild West, and I like this kid fascinated by older companions, once imagined himself as the Wyatt Earp, Billy the Kid is. Rozsiadalismy August evening in a smoky kitchen, on which walls were immortal wallpaper in green peas, Arek przygrywal his poetic ballads, and Loco Off about this, that life is wonderful (especially in the middle of the bottle Seven Crown, which we bought for 190 crowns in store Border necessary). Not much time was needed, so I started thinking about you travel in the prairies, bears and discover tropic primary forests hidden somewhere in the far north. So, what if only dreamed it to be a cowboy. Such true: in a hat, leather coat, with silver Colt holster, and my con przybiegalby like a Jolly Jumper, the quietest even whistle. But I would not expect that my dream is fulfilled the then in such a perverse way - yesterday because I realized that quite inadvertently, and almost imperceptibly my cowboy dream just became reality. It is true that instead of my red hat, cotton hat, instead of mantle, plaid, flannel shirts, Colt replaces my second banana to breakfast in the back pocket of jeans, and a horse serves me przymaly touring bike from the stables of Rocky Mountain. But I feel so free, like I just flew in cramped cages endless plain that the end is not even najwytrawniejsze dostrzegloby telescopic eye. I feel happy knowing that at any time I move on, and depends only on me, I choose the north Yukon, Alberta in the east, or may choose to smoke a pipe room with hordes of wild meksykancow in the south. I feel as strong as ever in my life. And when I run every morning by the Indian Reservation to the tribe Squamishow distant a few miles from the stables, in which you work, and meet a friendly coyote at the barn in August zakradajacego unsuspecting pale face, I thought that was right but this is my old, when Pial the whole house, and the walls were falling peas, with 'Life is cudowneeee. If it it !'...
0 comments:
Post a Comment