¨Tienes todo en tu mano
más de lo que nadie tuvo jamás,
ya no te sabe a nada
toda esa felicidad¨
más de lo que nadie tuvo jamás,
ya no te sabe a nada
toda esa felicidad¨
Depedro
El Sr. Wilson se ríe de mi desde una esquina de la mesa. Puntualizo. El Sr. Wilson nos hace reir a mi cuenta. Esta ronda de carcajadas la pago yo, la siguiente, quizás, la contabilicemos en su cuenta con un guiño de soslayo.
Desde la otra esquina, un amigo anda contando cómo le ha envuelto el otoño, se le abalanzó sinuosamente, como a tantos otros, y le cubrió de lluvia.
Paul Newman murió y yo sigo sin conseguir emocionarme con ciertas cosas que mueven a gente que me rodea.
Ya no me preocupa.
Mr. Wilson laughs at me from one corner of the table. To be more precise, Mr. Wilson makes us laugh on my account. This round of laughs is on me, the next one may be on his with a wink.
From the opposite corner, a friend is telling us how the autumn has wrapped him up, it struck him sinuously and it covered him in rain.
Vero woke up disturbed. She did not know whether it was because of a dream she had just had where Yasser Arafat called her on her mobile phone to invite her to give a lecture on the Middle East issue or whether it wa because of the MF who, at six in the morning, rang our door bell of our brand-new-flat-with-a-terrific-roof-top-terrace in a fucking posh clubbing area.
Paul Newman has passed away and I keep on not being moved by stuff other people are moved by.
It does not bother me any longer.
Desde la otra esquina, un amigo anda contando cómo le ha envuelto el otoño, se le abalanzó sinuosamente, como a tantos otros, y le cubrió de lluvia.
Vero se levantó de la cama alterada, no sabía si era por el sueño que acababa de tener en el que Yasser Arafat la llamaba al móvil (sí, a su móvil) e invitarla a pronunciar una conferencia sobre el Medio Oriente o por el HdP que llamó a las 6 de la mañana al telefonillo de nuestro nuevo-super-fashion-ático-con-maravillosa-terraza en jodida zona de copas de niñatos pijos.
Paul Newman murió y yo sigo sin conseguir emocionarme con ciertas cosas que mueven a gente que me rodea.
Ya no me preocupa.
*******
Mr. Wilson laughs at me from one corner of the table. To be more precise, Mr. Wilson makes us laugh on my account. This round of laughs is on me, the next one may be on his with a wink.
From the opposite corner, a friend is telling us how the autumn has wrapped him up, it struck him sinuously and it covered him in rain.
Vero woke up disturbed. She did not know whether it was because of a dream she had just had where Yasser Arafat called her on her mobile phone to invite her to give a lecture on the Middle East issue or whether it wa because of the MF who, at six in the morning, rang our door bell of our brand-new-flat-with-a-terrific-roof-top-terrace in a fucking posh clubbing area.
Paul Newman has passed away and I keep on not being moved by stuff other people are moved by.
It does not bother me any longer.
3 comments:
No me sorprende saber que eres una persona propensa a pagar rondas de carcajadas...
Felicidades generalizadas para el mes pasado, compañera Virgo!
Supongo que si!
Supongo que si!
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