is Sunday and I have to write quickly, because after tomorrow as my last day on earth. Or maybe it's the first. Or maybe do that "just routine" Mario Benedetti describing The truce . I have three options, which is not bad.
I had breakfast on the balcony two oranges (I have peeled with a toy knife with the handle of the same color as the fruits) and two lattes Americans (how I had not discovered before?). Ikea leafing through a catalog, with the sun on your face, distracted. With this book, you feel like having a partner and dream in a bed designed for someone like Lotta Kühlorn. Malm bed, for example. And having an innocent little person in a crib designed by someone like Johanna Jelinek. Hensvik a crib, for example.
The front building is new, and it beings live one day as was his last time on the planet. Or maybe the first. Come and go through those balconies expensive, poorly designed, in which ever gives the sun glancing how I drink American coffee and browsing the magazine on my balcony Ikea-cheap-where the sun always gives, and then enter their newly released apartments with beds and cots Hensvik Malm.
I have to write quickly, because after tomorrow as my last day on earth. Or maybe it's the first. Or maybe do that "just routine" which described Mario Benedetti in The truce .
My routine was that on Tuesday my parents came to Barcelona with the diligence of ten in the morning, always parking spot in front of the Rosa Boulevard. Paseo de Gracia go back to the sun on your face. To Mrs. Sophia escaped her eyes behind those windows full of clothes, or perfume, or shoes. The player escaped her eyes behind those cafes where I wanted to lie down for a coffee with milk. Reach the cathedral square, and called my sister (her daughter Mrs. Hayden) on the phone. Be worth it four on the terrace of the café for tourists, with the sun on your face. I think it was the first time at breakfast the old family in this old city. We alone, without new families. My parents have long had their Malm beds, and cribs Hensvik. My sister has them now.
Before we parted, Mrs. Sophia gave me a tupperware with mushrooms they found in the southern mountains, sauteed with garlic and parsley. It was near the beach, so I went there on my grind.
There were few people in the arena. I sat on a breakwater. Two retired explained that the waves come in threes, and the third is the weakest, while I was hanging on my backpack when approaching these foams threatening. A couple of German tourists camped on my right. She was dark, with blue eyes, he was blond, with dark eyes. Sandwiches extracted their backpacks, and I opened the tupperware. We ate in silence, without knowing, while landing gulls of various sizes, demanding a share of the feast. Surely these strangers, with whom he shared table in the sand, have long had their Malm beds, and cribs Hensvik.
My routine was that last Thursday I went to the heart of the city. The evening was facing a Woman's Secret, to wait for the Princess, who arrived on time with the diligence of the eight in the evening, direct from the radio. He asked me to come into the room, but I refused after analyzing the window (with mannequins half naked, and straw on the floor, a metaphor for the windows, I gathered). Then we went to Sephora universe. I did smell a thousand perfumes, colognes, lotions at night (in those sticks of paper) ... The shop was a lovely little French red lips, though we speak in Catalan.
We had a beer at a place that might appear in Lost in Translation . And there we talked of those businesses that have outstanding, and we are afraid.
The Princess has long had the Malm bed. And making American coffee on the balcony with Buñuel, with those parakeets from next door who sleep on the floor of the cage.
I have not hardly anything. Tomorrow I
waiting for my last day on earth. Or perhaps the first to be like them. Or maybe do that "just routine" Mario Benedetti describing The truce . I have three options, which is not bad.
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