Compostela
2007
BSO: (Click the previous post)
2007
BSO: (Click the previous post)
I say a paradox: it was a horrible night .. . and how much I was missing!
I leave the family home of Murphy's law at my heels. Damn, I forgot. I stop by to pick up the detail that I prepared to Noe. I want that 2007 begins with a gift for her. To stay there. To tell me. To bolster our friendship with her "Hoooola my king, q taaaal?." Against all odds and diretes dites. Noe deserves it, hopefully suffer less. Under layers of resignation and good taste is a hard life. As a permanent eddies.
As usual, turn the ignition key of the bike encourages all the clouds of heaven to download their joy on the way home. Fortunately I own throttle to regulate their intensity, slow enough to slow down and speed for four drops to a flood. The needle on the dashboard tells me that we run in liters per second, not in km / hour. I sail with the wind astern and tied to the mast lookout hazards howling ...
- "Pedestrian to baboooor no intention cruceeee visibilidaaaad ... "
-" Car stopped estribooor busy ... opening puertaaaaa possible care "
-" BMW complexed aproximandose opuestaaaa ... towards the starboard wheel aligned with charcoooo .. . inminenteee care tsunami "
-" VW Polo proaaaa hesitant ... lady with hands clasped at chin up 10y10 and volanteeeeee aquíííí ..... let's go! "
This man has 21 years on board. His ability to anticipate surprise maneuvers of drivers who are not me has saved my bacon countless times. And as many have taken over and I returned home safe with three or four milligrams galloping through my veins. Of alcohol per liter. It has learned the language of traffic and the art of smooth ride with his head wedged between the front seats of a R6, behind the eyes "british blue" inhabited by the quiet, owners control of things. It can be. Step
against the road Hipercor absent, everything is water, and the bike that says that under these conditions does not follow:
- "rrrrrrrrrrrrrploplo example ..... ... ..... rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrploplo RRRRRRR .. ple-ple ... ......... plop. " Fuck
to the last of the screws while Murphy is part of the chest with laughter: one day of the year in which it is impossible to find taxis in Compostela. Later he tells me Noe asked the taxi driver to bring € 25 from Milladoiro. Market Act, take it or leave it. She leaves and drunk driving. What is 9 € legal.
... Be water, my friend .. . Pico
finger under a blanket of water, and without haste because my clothes oozing, and it is impossible for me wetter. I will be gracious to them dudes tuned, others just stare at the front and "I have not seen." Today the brand-new seats of their cars only brand-new host of tiny ass brand-new brand-new, and someone with a problem is not in the script. My eyes drilled the rain and I know post-it leaves a staple in their consciences. Will fall to 200 or 300 meters, no more.
I have no one to revive the bike, which does not deign to release the first cough until they notice that, after many dozens of attempts, the knot of the throat begins to compress, to squeeze, and then yes:
- "ple-ple-ple-ple prrrrrrr ... prrrr -ple RRRRRRR rrrrrr rrrr RRRRRRR RRRRR RRRRR"
is the time to forgive everything and return to being accomplices and to promise you a refrigerant more fashion. It takes me home. The garage door creaks and retiembla as the rain becomes gentle, and even stops. The bastards.
Change of clothes, I will not "handsome " cachissss ... In Santiago
I leave the bike and climb Porta do Camino San Pedro looking Pepe House Boteiro or-something-so. Of course it rains a sack but I'm finally at the door of the room. The queue that I find myself back to a scene repeated a thousand times: eat you-the-jar-to-goalie-to-get-through-the-hill, ufff ... how boring it is. But I am not part of these dynamics (2 ½ years already), and step ahead of all resolutely opening my wallet ... to realize that just took € 3 , mecagoastaen ...... .
As usual, turn the ignition key of the bike encourages all the clouds of heaven to download their joy on the way home. Fortunately I own throttle to regulate their intensity, slow enough to slow down and speed for four drops to a flood. The needle on the dashboard tells me that we run in liters per second, not in km / hour. I sail with the wind astern and tied to the mast lookout hazards howling ...
- "Pedestrian to baboooor no intention cruceeee visibilidaaaad ... "
-" Car stopped estribooor busy ... opening puertaaaaa possible care "
-" BMW complexed aproximandose opuestaaaa ... towards the starboard wheel aligned with charcoooo .. . inminenteee care tsunami "
-" VW Polo proaaaa hesitant ... lady with hands clasped at chin up 10y10 and volanteeeeee aquíííí ..... let's go! "
This man has 21 years on board. His ability to anticipate surprise maneuvers of drivers who are not me has saved my bacon countless times. And as many have taken over and I returned home safe with three or four milligrams galloping through my veins. Of alcohol per liter. It has learned the language of traffic and the art of smooth ride with his head wedged between the front seats of a R6, behind the eyes "british blue" inhabited by the quiet, owners control of things. It can be. Step
against the road Hipercor absent, everything is water, and the bike that says that under these conditions does not follow:
- "rrrrrrrrrrrrrploplo example ..... ... ..... rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrploplo RRRRRRR .. ple-ple ... ......... plop. " Fuck
to the last of the screws while Murphy is part of the chest with laughter: one day of the year in which it is impossible to find taxis in Compostela. Later he tells me Noe asked the taxi driver to bring € 25 from Milladoiro. Market Act, take it or leave it. She leaves and drunk driving. What is 9 € legal.
... Be water, my friend .. . Pico
finger under a blanket of water, and without haste because my clothes oozing, and it is impossible for me wetter. I will be gracious to them dudes tuned, others just stare at the front and "I have not seen." Today the brand-new seats of their cars only brand-new host of tiny ass brand-new brand-new, and someone with a problem is not in the script. My eyes drilled the rain and I know post-it leaves a staple in their consciences. Will fall to 200 or 300 meters, no more.
I have no one to revive the bike, which does not deign to release the first cough until they notice that, after many dozens of attempts, the knot of the throat begins to compress, to squeeze, and then yes:
- "ple-ple-ple-ple prrrrrrr ... prrrr -ple RRRRRRR rrrrrr rrrr RRRRRRR RRRRR RRRRR"
is the time to forgive everything and return to being accomplices and to promise you a refrigerant more fashion. It takes me home. The garage door creaks and retiembla as the rain becomes gentle, and even stops. The bastards.
Change of clothes, I will not "handsome " cachissss ... In Santiago
I leave the bike and climb Porta do Camino San Pedro looking Pepe House Boteiro or-something-so. Of course it rains a sack but I'm finally at the door of the room. The queue that I find myself back to a scene repeated a thousand times: eat you-the-jar-to-goalie-to-get-through-the-hill, ufff ... how boring it is. But I am not part of these dynamics (2 ½ years already), and step ahead of all resolutely opening my wallet ... to realize that just took € 3 , mecagoastaen ...... .
Murphiño, son, you will moderate to a man abdominal soreness out
Water flow dog ...
In view of having to go back to Porta do Camino to make money with the water falling cubes decided to put all the experience accumulated in years of night work. Smile "good person", but direct look relaxed, great security, not to ask but to announce:
- "Good Night, and Happy New Year, look, with which it is falling and is q. .."
- "Noesmiproblema"
- "No, no, I guess you'll think q. .."
- "NOESMIPROBLEMA"
- "Please man, who is awaiting me, now I bring the ..."
- "YOU WILL NOT ENTER" (laughs sarcastically)
And I, three seconds ago I felt so alien to the group dedicated to "eat you -the-jar-to-goalie-to-enter-by-the -nose "Suddenly I am including him as an honorary member, and of course, the goalkeeper also ...
anger
Hello -" Hello "Lower San Pedro
drunken achampanadas tie and girls, making my way to nudge . I go to the cashier, where three hijosdeputa you take pictures with their mobile phones to a beggar who snores your fart in San Simon. One of them is laughing very proud to show me the photo, not knowing that this beggar also me. It would take too time to explain why what they are doing is frightening, so I hold her eyes with mine, and just say, slow and forceful:
- "You're a motherfuckin '
runs dry. Paran laughter. The other approach. I take the hands from his pockets and start to grow, get bigger in case.
- "Come, come, and go.
I have wanted to mourn, rage and helplessness. EVERYTHING IS SHIT I check
q
man sleeps alone, and I put the card. No go. Have stalled the opening. q jodeeeeeerrrrrrr ... thank goodness this Caixa two, so I turned the corner and entered the Home Reais. This enters the card itself ... to go out again immediately. You enter! Not! Does not work. Nothing works. The night does not work. The world does not work. My life does not work. What I have anger, diossssss. Anger squeeze my nut like a vice. Next ATM: Cervantes, with commission. Or does not like my card or do not like my face, I do not know, but do not want to give me money.
- wrong card.
Confused is Night wrong.
By the way, rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Orphan. ATM out of service
clash dog ... and water ...
I can not think. I'm blocked. The heart plays a Metallica and threatens to jump out through the mouth. Again
'm oozing water, and my head a carousel spins unstoppable self-destructive thoughts.
(To be continued ....)
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