North Station Valencia is also a little secessionist , modern and beautiful. P is waiting for the train to Vinaroz and a woman, too young for him, approaches him and asks if that is the path of the train to Barcelona and if necessary cancel the ticket somewhere. P is bored and tired and sad, but the smile of the girl is like a movie and he says he thinks so because he will Vinaroz and there is no need to validate it because he has not made and she looks still smiling and says thanks and he still looks and a boy approached him and very formal, distance, also says thanks and walks away with the girl a few yards and she with her beautiful smile and beautiful eyes farewell silent.
P can not avoid sitting in the car just behind the couple. The girl has blond hair must know crescent and gray blue eyes that seem to sizzle when you look, your ass is a slide where little black shorts and holding his left nipple seems to stretch after your shirt also black. AP painful thoughts and pulls out his black rubber pad to write a poem that you hide from memory.
The train starts and the girl and boy talk and laugh and seem to want to like and be very friendly and resourceful. The principles always are, and P is happy, what stupidity, noting that the couple has been known for little when he sees how the boy looks at the ass of the girl who has risen to take something from his backpack and takes out some photos and start to teach the boy and P that spies from the back seat. The girl, in one of those, look and see the look of P and smile again as before and P hurts life again and is glad to be alive again.
landscapes photos and go out the window and P stands for the toilet and then approaches the Marc bar and orders a stiff target of those that tears in the throat and try not to remember that remembers every second that was when a shadow next to her blonde starts and is the blonde asking fire and he, trembling at his age, he smoke, but the secure server, and she, her smile, thanks, what are you drinking?, Marc, what?, Marc, is brandy, do it in Galicia, ah, Galicia, next year will go to Galicia, " you French?, yes, I am from Lille, Lille did?, how far and how so nice accent you have, you speak English well, is that I always I have boyfriends and English and learn a lot, haha, and his eyes and parted lips and P living again, poor fool.
and spend five minutes and seem to have spent two months and she is very close and smells really good and you know what you do each one, reading, in an editorial, it; official prison, he, as young, she, as most, he. So nice to be talking as well go the fields and almost touching the water from his eyes and almost touching his lips with his fingers and all those years seem zombies rising from their graves and clinging to the ankles of P for your dream does not become in another lie.
music Words seem that no matter what they say, the gestures are becoming closer and wool ball and like to be close, almost touching, and what they think it is always two seconds behind what they feel, like a double image of what they wanted to feel. She talks and laughs and has a smile and suddenly freezes and the gray is a little black eyes and his voice a little serious, a little hollow, completely new to tell you something that has never had that one day a guy died for her, just a railroad, because the boy loved her, but she does not, the long history of the train, adolescence, the road death. YP silent that does not care about the story, but seeing so serious and so sad and has won in both the death penalty any, of any life, that P can not avoid feel a little hypocritical when you put your hand on it and feel the touch of his life and feels closer to her than himself and he knows it all a lie, anything, and would have died right there to kiss her, but death has never been easier, and can only accompany the slip of the girl's tear down his cheek, how many lies, and whisper a not your fault you know that's not true, that everyone always to blame, even though write poems to deceive.
P's hand is lying on the girl. The rattle of the train divides life into pieces and the time seems like a straight line away from itself. It is already dark and P and the girl are talking. You may never get fucked, but forty-five minutes have been removed together and each of its flows, the rest is pure event. P asks for another pomace and she accompanies, P tells his story, he speaks of his wife, his love from the sixteen, his daughter, his only love, his mistress, the jealousy of his wife's madness his wife, the death of his daughter drowned by his wife, his loneliness, his guilt, his ennui, his anything. The train arrives at Vinaroz.
0 comments:
Post a Comment