Jack was walking deep in thought, moody and deep enough to understand to the same, while the leaves of autumn were playing persistent calls you crook forming piles of leaves on top of each other seemed nests of birds, the wind whistled scornfully as in those western movies before the duel between gunmen.
Jack was deeply concerned and sorry, just minutes to him that his father had died, and despite having no relation to quite a few years, greatly affected him, had always idolized his father as a child I thought it was a superhero of those journals of his childhood, similar to warrior mask, Captain America, or any of those heroes of the time.
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