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■ Pașadine în vers alb (73)
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-07-24 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
the walls became red
flushed away in my mind like toilet paper, and as i sat next to the window, holding in my eyes the upcoming yellow carpet of morning ready to unfold it’s buildings, it’s cars and streets like tentacles reaching out for me upon the billion-blooded floors a few weeks went by. i felt perishable, scraped, with no money to pay my rent, unable to get a copy of my college diploma so i could finally get a decent job, bowed & ready to shoot questions to the world like arrows, expecting nothing back and giving away the least to stay alive i held my forehead against the windows for endless hours, staring at the flat asphalt painted with yellow stripes, at the high-end-neverending buildings full of hamered glasses like fish scales, watching the US Transit cars the Foot Locker stores getting closed and opened, Citibank ads blinking Federal Express people carying packages across the streets. everything seamed scattered like the entrails of a cloven stomach and the shiny whiskey glass i held looked like a bistoury. This is America, i said finishing-up my drink. - This is acid, said a voice from behind, top quality. This is America i told her. - Acid ! she screamed. Say it or else. And I had to. she was 19 years, just graduated, depressed and angry, bearing her ass against the bedroom’s window ledge slipping down slowly. It was the only time in 4 months when we trully agreed on something.
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