- The story of the Portuguese fella who dared becoming an artist. 1/?

There was not enough air.
The vacuum on my chest was so strong that i felt like imploding. Decided that if i was to implode, then better rush to a last coffee and cigarette.
Six or seven steps, not to sure, separated the top from the bottom of the fancy mezzanine in my fancy flat in Notting Hill. Downstairs all the tools and materials to make my beverage were in stand by, attracting each other with very very very very little evidence, but hey, i am not going to try and deny Newton's ideas about such things, and, to be fair, such thoughts did not cross my mind at the time which therefore makes it a bit, just a bit, irrelevant for the account i want to give here.
So, there was no air, but, a couple of minutes later there was a nescafe being drank and a couple of fags on successive carburation (this computer doesn't know the word carburation, lol).
It was my day off.
A quick glance at my tips box would have revealed more than 600 pounds. I was making goood money up-selling sides of ham and gruyere cheese to the fanatics of overpriced organic food. I was really good at it i must say. Like a robot. Hello Madam, haven't seen you this week, is baby John better from the tonsillitis? Oh really!? But that is great news, i'm glad for you Mr Patton, would you like a side of tapenade with your salad, no no, yes yes, thank you very much, that is really kind of you. Fuck, i'm hungry, i want to go on break, sorry Manager, the floor is ok, do you mind if i go on break now, my apologies Manager, you are right..

No comments:

Post a Comment