Shortly before Christmas I received an email asking Pere Xurri and a small contribution to your blog Dimarts de sang. I long ago that game where they give clues about a crime novel. It takes work because they must read the book, write the text and ensure that their tracks are easily searchable on Google (there are a few hours). Readers we just guess the title of the book, the author's name and characters protagonists (there are a few minutes). Soil is fun and participate. The award is one of those puppies pilots earned in the bazaars of the fairs. We will promptly send them by mail, with a certificate that certifies you as the winner of that week. I have a shelf with all I've accomplished so far. Seven. Remain aligned there, keep me company, and give them good night before bed and good morning when I wake up.
Xurri answered the email and Pere politely apologizing for not writing for them Dimarts de sang. The truth is that I was too lazy to read me a crime novel, writing a text and to ensure that the tracks were going to leave easily searchable on Google. With how easy it is to stick to compete. I put as an excuse approaching Christmas. I sent the message and I slept the calm sea.
After a week I had a new email and Pere Xurri in the inbox. I had forgotten about them, but they had not forgotten me *. I cited in a bar in the street and I Brosoli advised to attend that evening at eight o'clock. I went down Argenteria, unconcerned with his hands in his pockets, trying a smile to regret my inability unknown to those working with them. The place had two floors. It was cozy, with wooden tables and candles to attract customers. It seemed empty, except the bartender behind the bar when he saw me enter, he left his shelter for the blind of the establishment down my back. It seemed odd and I turned with the intention to demand an explanation. But, without saying anything, I pointed a finger upstairs. Restless climbed the stairs creaking under my steps, watching the performers of jazz portraits decorating the walls.
On the top floor, sitting behind a table at the back of the room, rose four-eyed behind his glasses to scrutinize. Were a man and a woman thin and serious. Very thin and very serious. Slavic Beauty With this offer angular faces. Seemed to nuclear scientists from the former Soviet Union. The gray-haired man stood up to ask me a hand signal to sit down. I thought for a moment to tell her she needed to go to the bathroom, hoping that I had a window through which to jump onto a patio and running. But it reaffirmed that I sat down and did not seem to be those people who ask you this for the third time. So I sat. She handed me the cold hand over the cold marble table and said his name stretching r point. "Xurrri." He handed me the cold hand over the cold marble table and said his name stretching the letter r . "Dog." Luckily "The Wanderer" does not contain that letter. So I showed up without looking like Russian. I asked again that unselfish collaboration, and I put that smile he had rehearsed Argenteria down the street saying he was sorry, that perhaps after Christmas ...
Then she took from his bag a laptop. Launched it without a word. Find a document quickly displacing their nimble fingers on the keyboard. I came to the view screen. It was a video clip. Pressed the play. Images appeared sharp enough on the facade of a two-star hotel in the street Regàs. I know him perfectly. He attended the clandestine couples to commit infidelities. They rent rooms by the hour, with absolute discretion. On the tape I saw a guy out of the establishment. He wore a suede jacket beige sheepskin collar and a beret puff. He looked at both sides of the street so as not to recognize him and ran away from the scene. I recognized myself in it. Then they spent twenty seconds of still frames the entrance to the two-star hotel but nothing happened. Until he saw leaving the scene of a guy with long coat with the collar pulled up to the chin, and Borsalino hat. He looked at both sides of the street so as not to recognize him and ran away from the scene. Well recognized in him the Vei de Dalt. Xurri
said it would be very sad that these images began circulating online crazy, that someone was so ruthless than posting on his blog. Pere was reaffirmed with a shake of his head. I looked down into my shoes. Two days were my selfless cooperation for Dimarts de sang in your inbox.
PD: Doggy per pilot to the first person to endevini the black novel.la m'he llegit. Goes, it's easy.
* Aquesta sentence is a Homage / plagiarism admirat meu Milan Kundera.
0 comments:
Post a Comment