Something had unraveled in me since the other night. Inexpensable. That unrelenting, slow drip in the hospital. The mutilated time was breaking apart, it was gnawing away. No way out. And then ... I bought the paperback edition of Manhattan Transfer, from John Dos Pasos, choral novel, recommended by the nurse on duty. I could not sleep anymore. Everything was happening and I was not doing anything. I felt distorted and euphoric at the same time. Sudden highs and lows, without any sense. strong headache in the right occipital area, a symphony "in crescendo". I think the book will be fine, talk about New York, I went there with my wife, who now sleeps. But now I can not focus. I picked the punch and I left home. Inexcusable. Go to the bar, near work. A short coffee, as always? Juan says to me, the owner of the gambling den, while I watch, carefully, at the same time, his rosy, plump, appetizing hands, and a ham knife. A cut would make you ... without stopping smiling. Seeing the sweat of his belly slide between the semi-open shirt, in channel ...., have a good day. And in that inexcusable way I enter the office. First chords of Rhapsody in Blue.Frenesí.Ahi sitting all.And I did not even get fired. Collective errors They become our truths. My secretary brings me some documents to sign, I am captivated by her neck, while I notice the firm punch, without looking at her. I spend the morning thinking that Dos Passos will do, but still live? I have not bought anything for his birthday, better tools for the garden, chainsaws ... I arrived home, in a robe as always, a warm kiss, no teeth, better. How are you? ..and that ineluctable tremor, while soft the punch multitude of times, mouth, eyes ... shooting. I'm fine ..
A short coffee, as always. Does the phone ring, my wife, will you come soon? Irremediable.