You look where you want to be.
My eyes are dragged along the floor. As I like to do. As did soldiers in trenches avoiding bullets. The seed sludge of steel and gunpowder is now excels carpet and office desks and chairs. The bullets are now escorted by smiling eyes accompanied by two words that encapsulate a minimum sentence lethal.
Happy day. And
. No, man. No. Not that. I'm not your friend. And you're not my friend. I do not think so. And you do not. So why the charade? Is that the hint of a different day in a sea of \u200b\u200bgray days is as equally to be vital to further accentuate the difference? And then to say hello on the day of his friend. And to fill with flowers on the day of spring. And on Valentine's Day. And greet each ferocious atheists at Christmas.
That the possibility of a single day make us forget the similarity and the tedium of the rest. To celebrate the anniversary and not the year. We live for the weekend. That we exist and not live.
I slumped in his chair, wounded. Several were able to intercept with Happy day, Happy Friends Day and even hummed Happy, happy in your day, my friend God bless you, you eat rotten bananas and you turn back. Even I changed the lyrics to make it more suitable to this day, very unhappy. About
everyone greets and kiss and give hugs. And I do not understand. I do not understand if you live as real. Or if you are aware of the hypocrisy. Perhaps you feel it. Perhaps sit down and be genuine and be me strange and confused. Without a doubt I feel I belong here, after all.
My eyes rest on the window. You look where you want to be. But until all 18 have to attend these square meters.
Spam Shadow of fat soaked me. She looks at me. I look at him. Smile. "Happy days .- says.
a deep breath. She looks at me. I look at him. - Giraffes! Pororo! Passepartout and watermelons, water slide and Peron .- I say, hugging him. Well, cuddling is an approximate term. Willow would be like trying to hug the dwarf planet Earth.
I look. I look at him. Squint eyes. It might work. He laughs. It worked.
"You're crazy, man.
pie-Chasquibums and Nietzsche. Tiles!
Leaves, laughing. I grab a post-it. I have to devise new ways beyond the Dadaist Crazy to avoid uncomfortable, I write.
hours that separate me from the 18 are several. And my dribbling, few. And I will tell. Happy days I say again and will be terrible.
says "Hello .- I the receptionist "Happy day.
most terrible examples tend to happen soon.
And yes.
is terrible. It is terrible in a way that had not contemplated. Terrible at a dose that eats me inside. Destroys me. Collapses on me everything, even the titanic urge to look at and say I do not want to be your friend, that is dawning in his eyes and his smile and meadows in spring in its perfume and hug and kiss and make love there. While devouring anything left standing only enough strength to smile as if to say "Happy day.
And it goes, happy, unaware of the profound chaos and devastation left in my chest. My eyes, behind her. After all, you look to where you want to be.
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