In the morning I woke up pressed against her side with my arm on the sheet that covered his back. I had a hangover and pasty mouth. I watched without really believing in a "Tibidabo" like those she whispers to me in the neck last night touching. But she said nothing, his body was frozen and the heady smell took me by the throat.
Fucking! No idea what time it may well be or even who owns this bed! Anyway I'm too open to shine in the eyes.
Lola! Lola! The whole evening with her in the heart of barrio alto. On the Ramblas, she did it in the neck so I gave him a cherry liqueur. Luscious and syrupy mouthful, we even ate the kernels. Her red dress swaying and wrinkled his knees wrapped in black I danced the wedding of the five continents. Tango in tango we beat, fever, stepping up the pace walls after walls, porches after porches. Shreds of gray crumbling beneath our body clung. Under the red sign announcing corridas de toros Plaza I ate his first kiss. Under each framed in black white poster that displayed a death I was given a new freedom. The death of Simona Gonzales Perez earned me quite a cons dive. I seriously advanced English. One after another I gave him all the scroll bars gob of my collection of student exile. Mouth to mouth to the sangria. There's hands that come close to the buttocks. Carrer d'Avignon, or maybe it has to Escudillers crammed with tapas her and me. It was eradicated in laughing at their small octopus jar that shook our hands and we had tortilla stuffed with cervaise. It has turned our heads the jitter of hams. She raised her arms high to make them dance while I squinted at her nipples. Sangria and swelled our tongues. She had small red drops that beaded on the corner of his mouth. I drank everything I could I guess.
She bit her ear and told me in his hollow "tibidabo, amor, tibidabo. In fact I think she wanted me to say "Tibi dabo". But yet I doubt she spoke Latin. Or maybe she wanted we went up there at the height of the city to ride the mountains Russian. I do not know. I think I rebuted much. I tried to recite the Cervantes. A history of giant windmilling time. There I was really cooked.
Lola, I think you took me into the pocket of my money for watering your girlfriends in pesetas red lantern. I do not know. You did your job I guess, slender hands and nimble without ringing the bells. I did not care you know, only had your hand Lola. And your eyes like black olives. Your legs and spindles. And your eyelashes
tempo chino.
Make me dance again Lola! This morning it will not be easy with this bar at the temples ... but if you want Lola! You know I'm going to vomit and then I'll be fine before. Lola?
Under the sheet there was not a ham but Lola ten pounds. I smiled but I did not have the strength to eat. And then I vomited.
