And I post this UKeyed bit here, set at a Brazilian New Year party, specially for Rachel's enjoyment! : ) (I'm pretty sure I made some translation mistakes there, though, and I apologize for them.)
Clinically sober, on I walked, looking for something I was too unfocused to find. Mr. DJ had embarked onto a trippy oldies’ séance and I, pre-morning mode on, stumbled at cabbages who wouldn’t take notice at all. Only the cabbaged attend afterparties.
I envied them. While I moved on and kept my mouth firmly shut, I had this grasp on reality: to me, it was yet another year to end, yet another year to come. The lack of seasons in this town would be the thing to freeze me: non-summer, non-fall, non-winter, non-spring.
A bloke was standing right in the middle of the floor, sweating, holding this cigarette he wouldn’t puff. I examined him closely. I took his cigarette and puffed it; I saw no display of reaction. I put it back, but, as his fingers were frozen, it fell on the lino. That was my cue: fed up I tried to walk away, which ended in a thud.
The body I had thumped upon absorbed the shock as firmly as a rock. I lifted my eyes. The stranger had a grip on my wrist.
The man didn’t just look much more conscious than the rest; he looked a lot more nitid as well. He looked like a Real Man.
link to this post ~ 11:33 AM
|blog_sibylla (English version) - by Simone Campos|
Don't bother to buy any of it, it's all in Portuguese.