around like a top. London. Berlin. Milan. Even London. The alarm is not a nightmare because I do not even have time to dream. Always sounds too damn soon. Trolley ready. Backpack ready. Let's go. House, autuobus, train, airport, taxi, office, hotel, taxi, airport, train, bus, home. Manager dapper with 24 hours and the Financial Times, incravattati bankers, women in icy plaster suit and heels twelve. Indescribable boredom. In all this wandering, axons play tricks . After four hours of sleep, leaving the rainy Zurich and am greeted by an unusual warm and sunny British capital. Venture 'summer'. I'm touched. The taxi driver makes me by Cicero and show my appreciation with the yawning that would impress the most daring of the lion tamer. After I sipped an hour and ten of traffic and chatter lethargic, finally arriving - so to speak - in the office. Time to turn on the computer, open your mail, drink a glass of water and are already meeting . Within the room, shaking hands. He, the project manager so I was forced to take yet another flight, is a handsome man fluent English and German accent. Homosexual . Irrelevant, but not for my story. Let's go to lunch. Sitting comfortably on a couple of steps, chew a sandwich stuffed with chicken and tomato and they swallow cocaine. pampered by the warmth of the afternoon , we observe the slow and ancient flow of the Thames. The German speaks to me of his life. Professional. and Hamburg. Talk about the case: just this morning I met another guy in Hamburg. The temptation is too strong, in fact, can not resist. "From Hamburg? Really? You know, There Is Also Another Gay That ... "
What did I say? What the fuck did I say?!
Time collapses. The space also . I do not understand what is happening. Am I shrinking? Brunette looks at me hello hello is from above and with the hand, I continue to shrink . Quarrel with a beat, I encounter with a microbe and are slaughtered by a pair of beefy white blood cells.
I can not say it. But yes. Dear Freud, will also be a slip, but the fact of not knowing it help me avoid the immense figure of shit. Stratospheric. Galactic. Help me with the hyperbole, please.
nervous cough. 'Um, a guy That comes from Hamburg'
He does not leave anything leaked. His face is a tabula rasa of feelings . I, meanwhile, I'm looking for a hole in which plunge . I can not find, but meanwhile I have to watch the horrifying spectacle of a British girl raised in fish and chips and drink caloric sinking its jaws into four pounds of hamburger while his waistline overflows from the dam to contain the tent which he uses as T-shirt. I would say that, as punishment for my failure to act language, may suffice.
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