Era uno que decía que no tenía comida, no tenía bebida, estaba harto... que no le importaba ir a la cárcel y tener una vida en la prisión... estoy listo para morir", se quitó el traje y lo azotó agresivamengte sobre el suelo del vagón.
""I don't have food, I don't have to drink, I'm fed up... i dont mind going to jail and getting life in prison.. I’m ready to die," an African-American yelled as he removed his robe and aggressively whipped it to the floor of the wagon.
The silence let the breaths be heard above the traditional noise of tires spinning on the tracks.
paths.
The whistleblower jumped onto the train that was about to close its doors at 2nd Avenue station and started off with a tetric yet heartbreaking performance that prompted the flee of those around him. Since I still had it about four meters away and other passengers in the middle, I didn't move from my place.
Desperation and mental illness have always been a bad mix as cake in gravy.
Before the show will go on, and although so far the disturbed did not seem to want to attack anyone, a young man with brown hair and gray shawl grabbed him by the neck and laid him on the floor as he tied him with his legs..."