Los enanos volvieron a su casa con su dinero y yo me tumbé junto a Vanish en la cama de mis padres. Tenía gracia que la siguiese llamando así a los 42 años. La my parents' bed. I looked from my side of the mattress while sleeping under the bandages, my mother in disguise, as if it were some strange kind of reincarnation. Something evil, no doubt. It was my mother at that time. My young mother.
I mismatch with the feet and shoes dropped from the top of the bed. The sound of wood hitting the wake. I unbuttoned my shirt and pants and removed them. My underpants smelled like anchovies in vinegar. I left him as he traveled up to my knees and threw it on the dresser. I managed, surprisingly, on an old picture of my parents. Tacoma, April 1953. That could be a sign.
was naked. Vanish breathing hard. The sweat of my body was starting to dry up due to dust and mites legion devoured it as if it were butter. It was a pretty bizarre situation for everyone. Vanish, mites and I together and stirred. I turned to look, try it with different eyes. I started to cross her legs covered with bruises, his eyes, his chest and belly swell with each breath. Should, at least, touching her breasts. It was the fucking call of nature. Man needed to feel at that time. I did not care that she was not conscious.
So I undid the two buttons above that yellow dress, full of islands, coconuts and palm trees, to discover her tits, dirty and round. I tried to ignore my mother, after collecting his pension for the last ten years of his life, had died of cancer in that bed. I did my best not imagine gardening horrible in that dress. Hiding money in that box now had in my hands, under the board in the third leg. Tired of preparing and reheat individual servings of cream of mushroom soup. Serving two dishes, if I had a surprise return, any night.
I placed my box on the pillow and turned on the girl. I closed my eyes to touch her tits, but I felt nothing. Zero. Just as if you were feeling a lot of ash. I tried to unzip her dress down. I stuck my arm between his legs. I plunged my finger in her pussy, all the way, but I did not feel anything. One of them was dead, I thought. That made little sense, even for a guy like me, so I stopped. Without moving my hand from where it was, I rested my head on his shoulder, took a deep breath and fell asleep. I felt as if he had been years without doing it.
I dreamed Candy Gallows but this was different. We flew from atop the Golden Gate on a sea in flames. She wore her red dress. I do not. In a fit of romanticism quite unusual, Candy I threatened to kill herself. So, I taught a daily newspaper, I forget which, where his photo appeared and his obituary and said that I should not bother because he was already dead. I replied that this did not matter, that the daughters of bitches could die every time they wanted. And that was the thing, because just at that point, I woke up.
Opening my eyes I discovered I had two problems. They were neither the girl nor the box.
It was dark. I sat up quickly in bed and jumped to the ground. I left the room my parents in the dark, trying not to break anything. The only light in the house was the full moon that filtered through the window.
Despite the years and excesses, my memory still had a good reference on the second floor space, because I managed to reach the stairs of the house without bumping. I started almost crawling down the steps very slowly, holding tight to the railing. When you reach the seventh step I found something. It was his right foot. Vanish had fallen down the stairs trying to escape. I searched his arm, I found her breasts again. A pulse on your wrist. That was reassuring. I could not locate my box in the midst of darkness, so I said I would look better in the morning.
Tome
again for the girl's arms and turned to drag up the stairs into the room. Certainly not me I was getting any easier bastards.
* * *
I mismatch with the feet and shoes dropped from the top of the bed. The sound of wood hitting the wake. I unbuttoned my shirt and pants and removed them. My underpants smelled like anchovies in vinegar. I left him as he traveled up to my knees and threw it on the dresser. I managed, surprisingly, on an old picture of my parents. Tacoma, April 1953. That could be a sign.
was naked. Vanish breathing hard. The sweat of my body was starting to dry up due to dust and mites legion devoured it as if it were butter. It was a pretty bizarre situation for everyone. Vanish, mites and I together and stirred. I turned to look, try it with different eyes. I started to cross her legs covered with bruises, his eyes, his chest and belly swell with each breath. Should, at least, touching her breasts. It was the fucking call of nature. Man needed to feel at that time. I did not care that she was not conscious.
So I undid the two buttons above that yellow dress, full of islands, coconuts and palm trees, to discover her tits, dirty and round. I tried to ignore my mother, after collecting his pension for the last ten years of his life, had died of cancer in that bed. I did my best not imagine gardening horrible in that dress. Hiding money in that box now had in my hands, under the board in the third leg. Tired of preparing and reheat individual servings of cream of mushroom soup. Serving two dishes, if I had a surprise return, any night.
I placed my box on the pillow and turned on the girl. I closed my eyes to touch her tits, but I felt nothing. Zero. Just as if you were feeling a lot of ash. I tried to unzip her dress down. I stuck my arm between his legs. I plunged my finger in her pussy, all the way, but I did not feel anything. One of them was dead, I thought. That made little sense, even for a guy like me, so I stopped. Without moving my hand from where it was, I rested my head on his shoulder, took a deep breath and fell asleep. I felt as if he had been years without doing it.
I dreamed Candy Gallows but this was different. We flew from atop the Golden Gate on a sea in flames. She wore her red dress. I do not. In a fit of romanticism quite unusual, Candy I threatened to kill herself. So, I taught a daily newspaper, I forget which, where his photo appeared and his obituary and said that I should not bother because he was already dead. I replied that this did not matter, that the daughters of bitches could die every time they wanted. And that was the thing, because just at that point, I woke up.
Opening my eyes I discovered I had two problems. They were neither the girl nor the box.
It was dark. I sat up quickly in bed and jumped to the ground. I left the room my parents in the dark, trying not to break anything. The only light in the house was the full moon that filtered through the window.
Despite the years and excesses, my memory still had a good reference on the second floor space, because I managed to reach the stairs of the house without bumping. I started almost crawling down the steps very slowly, holding tight to the railing. When you reach the seventh step I found something. It was his right foot. Vanish had fallen down the stairs trying to escape. I searched his arm, I found her breasts again. A pulse on your wrist. That was reassuring. I could not locate my box in the midst of darkness, so I said I would look better in the morning.
Tome
again for the girl's arms and turned to drag up the stairs into the room. Certainly not me I was getting any easier bastards.
* * *
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