En vista de que no he encontrado la inspiración ni el momento para escribir un poco sobre whatever, para no dejar el blog en el abandono he decidido compartir con ustedes esto que escribí hace algunos meses. Es de lo poco que he escrito, aunque esto es verídico. 
Sí, sé que es un poco mamón escribirlo en inglés, pero lo hice así, a parte de que me sirve de práctica, por que está inspirado en el estilo de dos escritores que me gustan mucho, que son Charles Bukowski y J.D. Sallinger, cuyos escritos he tenido oportunidad de leer y entender en su idioma original y que en español no “saben” igual… quienes también lo hayan hecho me entenderán.
Aún no tiene título, tal vez jamás lo tenga… en fin, aquí está.
Está un poco eeeh.. “majadero”, pero fuck off , así es el estilo. Disculpen los errores … aún me queda mucho por aprender. Tschüs!
Soon, at the bank,
crowded as hell,
it seemed they were giving
the goddam money away.
I was sort of tired,
well I really wasn’t,
I just hadn’t desire to stare there,
much less get in the goddam row,
for Chrissake, I hate rows.
“537″ was the ticket I got,
I took a look to the turn screen
“120″ was the number I saw.
Unbelivable, goddam it! -I blurted ot-
Is the Ancient’s Retirement Crew doing the work?
It’s slow as hell! It has been opened for
thousands hours and
the have just attended a few morons
that I’m pretty sure they expect the cashier asks
for their documents and crap
to get them hell out of their wallets,
specially women,
who always used to bring a lot,
but I mean a lot of useless crap,
and make slower the goddam service.
I got to get the hell out of the building,
it was winter, but It didn’t seemed like winter at all
it barely was goddam hell over there
except that I expect hell smells worse
and rows are smaller.
Well, it didn’t smelled bad, but weird
and I think if hell smells lilke crap
at least you’ll know where the stink comes from.
Then I sat in the stairs right in the exit-entrance,
thinking about nothing, or it’s that I can’t remember
what the fuck was I thinking about.
Then the 40year-old woman beside me spoke
“What’s your turn ticket number young man”?
“537″. I just said .
“Oh, you’ll be here till midnight!”.
Crap, she was right, but I had nothing else to do but wait.
We talked a few crap about her ’cause she seemed nice, not dummy
but sort of tuff 40th y.o. woman.
Then I suddenly realized she had big boobs, really big but nice boobs,
not huge disgusting boobs, nor huge old boobs,
altough it doesn’t change things at all
except I tought she might have been sort of
sensation in her 20’s,well, at least her body was really fine for a 40th.
Ooh and I realized too that other men realized about her boobs
much faster than I did.
Then she made me a big favor…
she gave a much better turn ticket: 240.
“Your eyes got brightened right?”.
Hell, I hate that phrase, but what could I say
when she gave me that ticket just beacause.
Then we spoke not too much and she left.
After she left the place,
a goddam cookie seller came up,
a 30’s woman struggling to get some pennies,
that’s fine but her voice got me out of my mind.
“Good Morning, wheat sour cookies, have a nice day”
Like a freakin’ 70’s robot,
once and again that goddam phrase and sometimes the slogan:
“Have almond, nut, fat free…”
And something else I don’t wanna remember.
I had to hold that shit ’bout 2 hours,
but there wasn’t any place to go besides
it was confortable there sat down the floor
and a polarized gray glass as a backup.
Finally the turn came, I almost kill that bank bastards,
well I just tought it, ’cause I really wanted;
they almost got I miss my turn cuz some
goddam system error was making the turn screen
play on forward the turn numbers.
No goddam penny to me, it wasn’t my money.
After I got the fuck out of there,
I saw the cookie seller, and I endded buying some goddam wheat cookies,
there was no shitty junk food shop around the place, some pennies and I was hungry.
Cookies were good but hard as a stone and dry as an African kitchen.
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