From home to factory seconds had just five minutes. His alarm clock rang at 6.30 am and again at 6.38. Norman stood sleepwalker trying not to make noise, and ran through the dark hallway, not quite sure if he remembered or still dreaming. The mirror was another man and gargling facial lotion and returned him to consciousness. Then it all went through their steps. Adjusting the belt
always looked at her sleeping time. Face down, face and hair matted by the right leg by a four to the left. Watched her sleep, but I did not think nothing was coming to give a soft kiss on the forehead. That time was gone as he, like every day, closing the door slowly so as not to wake her, down the steps treading the same tracks the same sips of coffee in the bar below the same words good morning to the same echoes. After walking through the smoke of his cigarette and chips every day at 7.30.
Susan saw her with his hands in his belt and the face without eyes still lost in the shadows. It had to be asleep so he would not have to feel awake. Stronger closed lips so that no word is believed still alive. The shadow seemed to doubt if approached, whether to remember the way to that side of the bed, but always went. The clock hands were setting the pace of steps away, the door closing, his hands searching the crotch, squeezing hard as a cry to extract from their udders all dead affections. His fingers choreography were well aware that his dream had sex with those other rhythms that came and went, those flowers, those hugs just awakening.
While masturbating, Susan's head was filled with words, winks and laughter, days without night, illusions put to hang in every eye. Were the words of then and new ones did not know whether they were true. All came every morning when the shadow of her husband left her hole to daydream. Susan kept her eyes closed as his body fell back several spasms and thighs were filled with honey. Making
seconds was not a complicated job, but required much concentration and imagination required to make them neither too equal nor too different. Norman sat at 7.35 in post and, after putting up dark glasses, ordering supplies carefully. To his left were several boxes and open flat. In each of them could see the second empty. In each case a color. The Reds were quick to second, those who spend without thinking blue, were second intense, could last more or less, but always left a deep memory. There were also green, yellow, black, white, and even the second colorless. All were small cubes that seemed to shine if you looked too and could even get blind if they did not view protected. To the right of the chips were stacked where, once produced, recorded reference of each of them with meticulous fine print and a goldsmith. Before him his notebook without gridding white pages, a screen above the pad was changing color depending on the type of second I had to create. He wore many years in this business that it was easy to manufacture. With his left hand he took one of the cubes, the color that the display indicated, and with his right hand Garate any word on the pad. For anyone who could read his script writing disjointed nothing would make no sense. But he was already three words a second. Over time and skill the words amounted to no more than mere signs, drawings impossible with a fish, perhaps. After a time of concentration in which invariably ended with force your eyelids to believe those words are alive, the second was ready to walk. There was only your reference point on the appropriate tab and drop the cube color shown receptacle. Did not take him more than three minutes to manufacture a second, it was a good average. Susan
put his fingers to his mouth and sucked the honey as a sweet breakfast. He stretched on the bed and wanted to return to savor those seconds of pleasure every morning to greet her as a gift to make him forget the night. Every morning, just leave the shade, she was reliving those days when the shadow was light and smiled, it was music and spoke of Cortázar or some wicked writer without work. Susan closed her eyes and was succeeded as scenes in a movie in super eight while his hand seemed to move the crank of the projector. Gradually became accustomed to the fullness dreamy, this gap could not be happy where her reason and her husband. The words and looks were becoming rare, encounters in the kitchen or living room were missed and the house was divided in two, your presence and your absence. Susan lived only for their awakening and honey. At first it was scary when he found that after every orgasm ejaculate a small amount of honey, but it tasted so sweet, her orgasm as shock, now it was impossible to stop dreaming. He spent the day in bed, or anywhere in the house, exuding honey with his hand. Each time I felt more pleasure, more and more honey poured.
long time Norman was not going home for lunch. Although his shift ended at 3 pm, preferred to take a quick snack in the cafeteria of the work and go back to your table. Then take out a new box of your closet and put it on your left. It also had buckets, but, unlike the others, they were not of a single color, could be blue and red or green and blue / red green and blue or even could have all colors at once. Norman followed the same method as in the morning, except that now the screen stayed off and not write any words in his notebook. Every second that I had created in his head since the first day he met Susan. Every second of three minutes it had lasted all these years since then, still beating for a second. As the building was kept them in his pocket and then, like every night, let them melt on the lips of his wife while she slept.
So hurried each day until late and then walked slowly around the city aimlessly to allow time for her to fall asleep, to avoid the discomfort of his shadow. It drew the second walk to order the next day, to prepare them and make them pleased to Susan. When I came home, opened the door quietly and walked down the hall to the room, turned into darkness, close to kissing her lips gently before bathing with each of the latter he had created for them. That night, when unraveled the darkness to the body of his wife, he found only a pool of honey.
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