03-29-2008
Deeper and Deeper.
Etienne had been drinking. Me too I was drunk. We went to the bar to recharge our glasses as if it would have been the fuel
for our trip downstairs or upstairs in the booth and in the
labyrinth. Then we returned twith our glasses filled with the edge we sowing necessarily walking, leaving behind us a trail of beer. We stood against the walls in places of transit and on laughing as
silly, but it lent, men who came to us, daring, which touched us
nicely, and that in gloussant returns, or those who were waiting with a
look humble lying naked in the sling or in the backrooms of darkness. Our insolence and our cavalier in this atmosphere of loneliness bartered against sex in subdued light would make us laugh. Alcohol, too, made us drunk.
It was as if we were detached from what everyone was there, as if we drifted above this human misery. Sometimes we attach
to a man who went there, we will stick to him for not stagger and we asked, things that do not need to ask in these places of
anonymity, the first name and age, occupation and a lot of private
stuff. With an assortment of ratings throwed with laughs, the one who would say the most incisive remark. The most wicked, maybe. And then in the depths of a backroom where I smoked a clope, hidden by Etienne, a man came touchdowning him. And Etienne was left to do, and soon, he found himself on his knees in front of him.
In the alcoholic fog where I was, I saw him on his knees making
movements with his head, and then another man came, and soon Etienne
has been lost in the mass of bodies blurred which revealed the extent
to groans their skins extraordinarily white. This wasn't more than a moving cloud of moaning and rubbing white skins,
it was more than just a pile of bodies stretched amoncelés emergence
and away, which started a dance on-site with several difficult Leaders
tempo and a coward. I took out my iPod to put myself Othon Mataragas deeply
in the ears, sitting on a small bench from the bottom, and I watched
this ethereal magic of loneliness that sends itself to break out of
luck on the body of the other. Then Etienne stood up, dominated by
its size this heap of bodies collected against him, he lifted his hands
to rest against the ceiling in old stone cellar, and around him small
forms turned blurred, touched, carressed him, seemed to want to
steal the best part of his body, Etienne groaning, I wanted me to laugh.
I left and started talking with C., who
works at Carrefour, cashier with an inferiority complex, which made him
say it is host cash-in-chief or something like that. And then there was P., also master of ceremonies in a big French restaurant. The issue was whether to know if Larry King was a personality or not. For C., at Carrefour, which had received in his shop, it was obvious. For P. not, for the master of ceremonies, because all the same, my job, he said is placing personalities
according to their affinities, it is necessary to read a lot in my job
(of the trash press away?), then no, Larry King is not a personality.
I can say nothing more, I wanted to become invisible in a corner. Let us never see me that you do not imagine for one moment that something will happen, nothing will happen.
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