Story number 45 for the 2010 edition of the competition "The anthology of the bitch"
Supermarket. Suit. Corner with shelves of beers.
There is a couple in the middle of the lane, stopped. I avoidance. Li reserved. Grumble.
They kiss.
I am in a hurry. Sweaty. Stove.
lengthen the ear, are American.
you as an era, loosely hangs from his arms, and beautiful.
seems a bit 'dumb.
Ringhio, against the Americans. The heat. The suit.
I'm glad to be stupid and to reform the groove on my corn intolerant.
As a fool, he tells her to move.
Young eyelids raise soft.
Pupils brown touch me. The suit and greasy hair.
the cash are behind me.
I look at it. Then the disk. It seems to me young. And even more beautiful. His presence enhanced by three males, two clumsy and disoriented.
water, chips, gums with xylitol.
has big brown eyes. Long hair. Soft, wavy hair falling on her dress with simple beauty cream (delicious), puffed sleeves and waist band ocher.
ostentatious. The look.
hairless legs. Tanned, slender.
A red patchwork handbag on her arm, hippy-chic style, which is very fashionable.
contemplation, gazing, penetrate and probed. She stares at me.
I feel old, sweaty, battered.
Her boyfriend is the most beautiful.
In late August, where they go what they do what they are looking in this country lost on the right side of the river and not understanding a word of Italian.
not stand his American accent, but I can not stop looking.
She looks at me. Shameless. The rest fades around.
Pago. Esco. Do you follow me.
flirtatiously, leaning against the bar in yielding waiting trucks.
I got into the car and turn on the music. A ball. Morrissey sings and I with him, for her, telling her that I understand his language.
languid, watching me. I put in the bike and walk away.
We have one thing in common, you and I: 3 men. And it did not want anyone.
And there's a fucking laugh.
Anna Dolzan
2010
0 comments:
Post a Comment