The December 31 I left my little apartment at sunset with a bottle of wine made in the land of the fog in my backpack. I walked much of the long street of Sant Antoni Maria Claret, which I know by heart because the elegant woman always invites me to his house with a yard when they are parties to not be alone. I went free. Might entail a streptease physical or spiritual, but preferred to get to cut onions, diced avocado to do, to grind nuts in the kitchen where you chases every thirty seconds.
At ten o'clock at night we had a wonderful salad of canon, avocado and salmon with walnut vinaigrette, and a fantastic peppers stuffed with vegetables on the table with candles. And a big ashtray full of butts in the yard, because they both smoke and road. We went
turn the last cigarette, while waiting for the rest of their guests visited many of the long street of Sant Antoni Maria Claret, who know by heart because women always invites elegant home with patio when parties not to be alone. Rang the bell one after another (all women) and arrived with their pets: a dog, a cat and mouse (which had to be distributed through the house not to be fought). And then they talked among themselves and parrots, without stopping, while I tried to stop Lia declaring his undying love, his mouth stained with oil on my pants, then that would have given a bit of stuffing pepper. It made me remember those New Year's Eve with Mr. Gray, three years ago and long before. So I did play, throwing rubber caps crumbling under the table while I watched the elegant woman wanting to give me a broom and a shovel, after the party.
waiting in the fridge four plates with twelve grapes, and a vessel with twelve olives, because one of us was rare. In the fridge waiting for a bottle of champagne to wish us good wishes after the toast. In the TV out a clock he walked fast to the number twelve. Then came the year 2011 in our lives. What we began together. The grape
number twelve I got a phone call from Bauru, Brazil, which made me choke. Thais still lacked hours to celebrate, but wanted to start the year with me. She is a treasure.
walking back to my little flat much of the long street of Sant Antoni Maria Claret, which I know by heart because the elegant woman invites me to his house with a yard when they are parties to not be alone. She is my best friend, and I know I'll do this trip many more times in my life to rozarnos every thirty seconds in that kitchen. To give us jokes. To look at us knowingly. I like this woman because life is simple with it. When we have something to say, we say. When we have something to keep silent, so silent. And there are never fights, except when the elegant woman ever comes late to these appointments to walk. Some people have promised me the moon in this life, and then I saw the first train to leave in the morning. She is always smoking with you.
It was four o'clock when I arrived in Gràcia. But I kept walking. I went to the Parc Turo, to continue my annual routine. I walked around the room, brushing each sheet plant that overlooked the sidewalk, while requiring a good year for each of the creatures that have dealt with me lately. A leaf, a soul. A soul, a leaf. It is a tradition almost as dumb as all I do. But what if I give them luck?
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