Sunday, January 27, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Best Brazilian Wax In Bergen County
One of my little stories
One afternoon, Mr. X left the office with the strange feeling of having left something behind. Look how fucked you have to turn around, but decided to backpedal toward his computer table in the eighties and register drawer to make sure. Everything seemed in place: the wallet in the back of the jacket, the keys in his pocket, his head on the neck and shoulders .... So, with doubt in his pocket, along with the keys, pulled his blue utility occipital and went to house to spend the time thinking what could be.
seemed easy to spend an afternoon; zorrudamente ponder what was missing.
Gradually, the feeling was gradually concentrated in a region of the abdomen, between the lungs and squeezing the diaphragm, as if a hole has always lived there, was claiming his place. Taking deeper and deeper puffs of air that seemed to sigh more than inspiration. This caused such suffocation decided to go back out onto the balcony to breathe a sigh so sad that when you release the air, his voice seemed to him a groan.
could not understand what was passing, and this made him furious. He ran into his house and searched frantically paper and pencil, said efforts by all the movements she remembered made from the moment of awakening, and in each of the seven attempts, to reach the point of "I grabbed paper and pencil" he dropped a deep breath and re-written, with increasing detail.
are already 5 in the morning in the old bogeyman of the aisle, Mr. X decides to leave the pile of paper written under which he was hiding. The feeling is still there and seems unwilling to leave. A couple of hours the hollow of his gut has affected his throat. It has the feeling of being oppressed by a rope you can not see ....
begins to mourn. Among sob sob and cry again to slip the angry and sorry that he has no choice but to go out in search of new life that fill the lungs.
Then a gust of salty wind timidly enters your nostrils. The air port. Fishy smell mixed with oil and fat together, almost without thinking, tuck his steps to the place. It's quite a sight to see him walk at 5 and fourth in the morning with his hair unkempt, disheveled and slippers, staring at some high point, like sheep after passing through the knife from the slaughterhouse, and the arms semiestirados, with palms facing forward, as if seeking some kind help.
reaches the end of the pier. A thick concrete wall 15 meters high. Anglers saw it, pick up their desks and leave the place to be notorious for suicides to give his last dance. We see that Mr. X comes with dubious intentions and do not want to embarrass him.
Our man is at the highest point on the breakwater wall and windy.
again take a breath and feels as if entered and does not appear in the lungs or chance, as if the breeze was transferring your body without making the slightest effort. He stretches his arms to expand capacity but still no changes. Want to drop a cry so loud that after is based mainly in black and end the nightmare. Take a breath, opens his throat, arms.
A strong woman's scream is heard in the spring. A cry like the damsels in distress in black and white movies. Mr. X stops and heads looking to your right. Everything has gone quiet.
A woman is kneeling a few feet from him with open arms and trying to catch the sea air that seemed to fill his oppressed lungs. She
for the first time, becomes aware of the existence of Mr. X and feels he observed. In turn, Mr. X, also realizes that this strange unknown is watching you screaming with arms open.
A shiver runs very strong note how their bodies into the air at last returns to fill the gap that they gripped the diaphragm and the more slowly first approach, the greater the sense of relief, release their throats and run the one to the other and back, with arms outstretched and the intention to do the best you can do in this position: to merge into a strong, long and warm embrace.
Since then, Mr. X and his partner of sighs, have certainty that no longer feel that something is lacking in the center of your chest.
are no longer alone. 
One afternoon, Mr. X left the office with the strange feeling of having left something behind. Look how fucked you have to turn around, but decided to backpedal toward his computer table in the eighties and register drawer to make sure. Everything seemed in place: the wallet in the back of the jacket, the keys in his pocket, his head on the neck and shoulders .... So, with doubt in his pocket, along with the keys, pulled his blue utility occipital and went to house to spend the time thinking what could be.
seemed easy to spend an afternoon; zorrudamente ponder what was missing.
Gradually, the feeling was gradually concentrated in a region of the abdomen, between the lungs and squeezing the diaphragm, as if a hole has always lived there, was claiming his place. Taking deeper and deeper puffs of air that seemed to sigh more than inspiration. This caused such suffocation decided to go back out onto the balcony to breathe a sigh so sad that when you release the air, his voice seemed to him a groan.
could not understand what was passing, and this made him furious. He ran into his house and searched frantically paper and pencil, said efforts by all the movements she remembered made from the moment of awakening, and in each of the seven attempts, to reach the point of "I grabbed paper and pencil" he dropped a deep breath and re-written, with increasing detail.
are already 5 in the morning in the old bogeyman of the aisle, Mr. X decides to leave the pile of paper written under which he was hiding. The feeling is still there and seems unwilling to leave. A couple of hours the hollow of his gut has affected his throat. It has the feeling of being oppressed by a rope you can not see ....
begins to mourn. Among sob sob and cry again to slip the angry and sorry that he has no choice but to go out in search of new life that fill the lungs.
Then a gust of salty wind timidly enters your nostrils. The air port. Fishy smell mixed with oil and fat together, almost without thinking, tuck his steps to the place. It's quite a sight to see him walk at 5 and fourth in the morning with his hair unkempt, disheveled and slippers, staring at some high point, like sheep after passing through the knife from the slaughterhouse, and the arms semiestirados, with palms facing forward, as if seeking some kind help.
reaches the end of the pier. A thick concrete wall 15 meters high. Anglers saw it, pick up their desks and leave the place to be notorious for suicides to give his last dance. We see that Mr. X comes with dubious intentions and do not want to embarrass him.
Our man is at the highest point on the breakwater wall and windy.
again take a breath and feels as if entered and does not appear in the lungs or chance, as if the breeze was transferring your body without making the slightest effort. He stretches his arms to expand capacity but still no changes. Want to drop a cry so loud that after is based mainly in black and end the nightmare. Take a breath, opens his throat, arms.
A strong woman's scream is heard in the spring. A cry like the damsels in distress in black and white movies. Mr. X stops and heads looking to your right. Everything has gone quiet.
A woman is kneeling a few feet from him with open arms and trying to catch the sea air that seemed to fill his oppressed lungs. She
for the first time, becomes aware of the existence of Mr. X and feels he observed. In turn, Mr. X, also realizes that this strange unknown is watching you screaming with arms open.
A shiver runs very strong note how their bodies into the air at last returns to fill the gap that they gripped the diaphragm and the more slowly first approach, the greater the sense of relief, release their throats and run the one to the other and back, with arms outstretched and the intention to do the best you can do in this position: to merge into a strong, long and warm embrace.
Since then, Mr. X and his partner of sighs, have certainty that no longer feel that something is lacking in the center of your chest.
are no longer alone.
Monday, January 14, 2008
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