I repeat the mantras Sunday "in front", "someone has to," "single file" and without warning, it's time to eat.
extend the cloth, mounted Paul (who was waiting at the door as flat horse, watching a hypnotic rat bike size), and slipped on the streets to reach the moon, which in this case is not a satay ; lite, but a square. We picnic breaking cutting all gray with berries graphics printed on the rubber that brought Bea, and replaced the original sinful apples.
eat tortillas, croquettes, smiles and looks. Kisses, memories and future events.
After coffee, Pablo disappears and paraece, and suddenly everything is chocolate. I love it, way with his mouth full, but I fear that Madrid is melted because it is almost November and it's hot.
I return to the artificial green space, the endless questions and equal. I conclude my claim that nobody takes seriously. Share toothpaste and listerine with Nico, and lengthen the trip to the bathroom of the five all possible planning to not get out in the remainder of the afternoon. Clocks are put
against us and the numbers do not change the digits little corner of the screen. Among the many calls
shines a voice call from Bea Hull. Eva and I talked and laughed with her, but when I try to spend with Nico, the line says stop and cut. CHez Eva is the master of ceremonies in charge of this), and weary smile, counting coins. Is over. Some complain the next day thinking. I do not. I go to bed very late, and I'll get up late too.
I love Mondays.
walked a block away, to our shelter postdominical beer and (for Nico) of black vodka with lemon. We threw ourselves on the couches up, unknown until then, surrounded by Filipinos, would it be a bar oriental atmosphere because we are the only ones siemrpe eyes torn. We are content with lids (one per head) and potatoes. But we have more hunger.
A sales rose chides us with Indian accent, obscenity, imagine and Marta Ines issue among and between Nico and I, urging us to buy flowers as a method of sexual dissatisfaction. We laugh and leaves. We drink until we have no money, ie, two poles of a euro and a half and we said goodbye at the door before dividing, planning karaokes, Wurlitzer and a lot of parties, standing there, tired , with dirty tupperware in bags and a sociopath glitter in the eyes of everyone.
Before I get into the subway, Devotchka and around me. Then Nick Cave, Nacho Vegas, The Horrors ... I promised Peter Murphy from the lyrics to "Strange kind of love", Which today provides a good concert. As I read and I stress the word groovy Debord.
I see my reflection in the door and light rail, now one hundred percent sure that nobody will take seriously my claim for rent in the form of sheet metal.
I open the front door, greeting his people loved and I get a ham sandwich, cheese and tomato. As a brioche and a yogurt for dessert. I take a shower and talk to Sara by the messenger. As always we take the morning between written music and laughter, I say goodbye, I dive into my blanket and sleep sheep.