Joell surprised that we do not know what a Biffle. He launches into a monologue approximate to explain a sexual practice that is much more common than previously believed, which is to slap someone, but not in any way.
With -dick, announces he said proudly.
A childish smile on his face is drawn weathered, and my two friends back at me with accusing eyes. I still do pushups for not having to justify anything.
Joell, continues her stories of road, and Vincent pretends to be interested. Xavier him, sits beside me and watching me complete my series of exercises. A bit bewildered, I flaps on the abdominal with loud groans to indicate that this is not the best time for a conversation.
"I happen not to believe that you put this even jog," he sighs.
I caught my breath a few seconds, and begins to pump air appalled despite Xavier. I will spend the day doing weight training if necessary. And then I can reflect on how best to fight.
Vincent, escaping the blathering of the Swiss road, throws me what I do is useless, I do not muscled, and he takes my jogging as an insult to everything that is beautiful. Xavier points out that he took a little belly, but not to defend myself. It's just that Xavier leaves no margin for error, and is among others why he does not miss an opportunity to remind me that it was I who brought to Joell the apartment.
-It is not know, man, I murmured to himself.
"He helped me, so I help, I said, stopping my shoes. It's as simple as that.
We are the desperate, those who live on the edge of precipices and struggling against any risk of error. I smiled at Xavier, who asked me to be less stupid. And when I start to do push-ups, my arms and I let go I bang my head on the ground, covered in sweat.
There is nobody for you here. Everything is against you and nobody can help. It's the same crap to everyone, then we must fight harder.
I hear Joell vaguely ask if Vincent is of course that's not him who wrote on my blog since it went on TV in posing for me. The mustachioed denies contempt, saying he probably would write less conventional texts.
-On gets lost, finds the road with a gloomy voice. I can not understand is that Irving Rutherford.
Us either, Vincent replied, looking at me catch my breath.
It's been quite a few hours I stopped my exercise and my hands shake yet. But it's probably because Xavier risk getting fleeced on this one. I raise some green chips which I have forgotten the value and takes a long drag on his cigarette with a theatrical air. Vincent looks at his cards, chips and sticks to Xavier, squinting with the same theatrical air. The worst is that it works because I'm lying.
Joell really sweats a lot. He contemplates the pile of green chips on the table as if she concealed the hidden mysteries. I want to say that in any money has no value at the time it is.
Vincent made a joke about the Swiss, thinking put at ease. Joell gently caress his belly, and Xavier is in turn a joke about constipation. I explain to the road to reassure him that it sends in its mouth all day, that's how it works, and if we do that with him is that we love well.
-Unless it corrects Xavier pointing to me. It is not love.
I gratify my friend the finger, and Joell encouraged to play. The latter looks at his watch, like how long it agrees to think again. Beads of sweat dripping on his forehead extra, which is already congested.
"It is the game guy, impatient Vincent.
"It is nearly done," Joel whispered.
The mustachioed raises an eyebrow and wondering eyes. I shrug my shoulders while Joell pushes his cards before him, looking at his watch. It has a low voice, shaking his head as if to deny the evidence of time passing.
"I will not be able," he starts repeating in a low voice, like a litany. I advised him to calm down and reminds him that he went to bed at this turn and has no reason to freak out. But he continues to rub his belly frantically, and Xavier looks to the party to ask if he needs medication or a drink.
Joel jumps up, knocking his chair. He yells "I can not," and transfers a sort of little box he hid under his shirt for him down in his pants. He sings "This is the precious treasure," before folding in half.
The box he hid in his pants exploded, but his body made dam. The blast destroys the chip stack, and blood is splashing the table. The Swiss collapses into a groan of pain, holding the crotch to try to stop the waves of blood that gush.
Stunned, we get up without really knowing how to react. The bomb was not very powerful, but my ears whistle and obscure my perception of the situation.
"I'm sorry, Joell dying. They forced me, I had no choice.
Again and again Irving Rutherford. I knew way back to Paris I would have to fight. I never imagined that the fight would be as vicious.
Joell utters a last gasp, clinging to his lack of genitals. Shocked and confused, we see no tears at the death of the assassin who finally changed his mind. Because if there's one thing that Xavier has managed to get into the head, is that people never have an excuse.
The whistle fades from my ears, my arms and tremble less. I think the worst part is that you get used to violence.
Slowly, Xavier kneels and begins to unbutton his fly. As an undead, he sticks a Biffle on the face of the road, wearily. A strange fate emerges from the scene, which looks more like a prerequisite to an accident of life.
Xavier puts his sex without a word. We are the poor, those who know the misery and harden to survive. We defend ourselves with the means at hand, and most of the time we simply rely on luck.
I do not skimp on the big scotch, and the more firmly fixed than I can a broomstick between two chimneys. Xavier, without looking back at me, warning me that it will never stay. Vincent and her lit cigarette while contemplating the sleepy capital. The roof on which we are not very high, but we guess all The same few buildings on fire to the city center. Actually, now that the street lights do not work anymore, it no longer sees it.
I finished my small installation, emptying the roll of adhesive. Something in the attitude of my friends talking to me, despite the fact that they stand back to me. I distinguish their actions calculated, and the calmness with which they are sitting on the ledge, feet dangling, the cigarette smoke on the roof has become a habit. And unfortunately that every day they have a little less afraid of heights.
I grab the stick firmly, and began a series of pulls. The chimneys are low, and my knees touch the ground every time I go down. After the third lift, my bar training craft breaks, and I am a small waterfall. But the roof is not very steep, and I easily caught up with another fireplace.
Xavier did not comment, but Vincent has a tired smile. I'll sit beside them and turns me on a cigarette in my lap, a little fearful of the void.
The city burns quietly, and we take a little height. The lack of street lighting is probably why people turn on the traffic lights. I wonder if our president shit in his pants in a bunker by now.
I try to color this time of sadness. I am looking for poetry at all costs, at night, in silence. But the truth is that I see less beauty around me right now. And I'm not nostalgic for France before, but then not really.
I get up the ledge, feeling that he is still a little early to trust the vacuum as do my friends. I'm walking on the roof, kicking the debris of the broomstick, which tumbled from the roof and go crashing into the deserted street. In fact I try to color this time of anger, failing melancholy.
"I think there was a metal bar to your chin, Vincent whispers to me nonchalantly.
-I will see it tomorrow. Jumped?
Xavier and his nodding silently. Enveloped by the cool night, we remain motionless for several moments, refusing to submit to a decision we have taken ourselves. We save every second that separates us back to the apartment, because we know what awaits us: Duties, violent life, and a body without genitals.
Note: No one wants to read you after that
Soon Vincent is struggling to carry heavy things
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