I approach thirty, I hate people and my person, I like nothing, no speed. At the table in front of me there is no longer the pretty puss has fringe on her own about who I was spending time with fantasies. Just the debris of his pastry gluttony scatter like shards of glass on the table. Leaving the warm coffee bubbling in my mouth until there is more tips for increasing granular stuck between my teeth. I is not the courage to wash in the morning in the toilets of the station. I'd wait at night, there are fewer people at night. Fewer people to look after me with their gaze. Maybe he should I spend my remaining tickets in a three-piece suit used. I see a red tie, lousy, so red, ugly people do not be concerned that this tie and not me. They would go pee, take me to a young businessman and a life filled with deep pockets and I would not have to feel ill at ease. A young addict appears, minette antichrist my past appears and starts wandering around between the tables, a sweater covering his body and especially to cadaveric arms black rot. Septic dark cutting her cheeks, sucking his Droopy eyes that recall and less funny, filthy and its mine and his hand lazy beggar, soft, pending. She comes to my height and her eyes look sticky, slowly at me with words without cuts, muttering, like a prayer shaman, I understand only "please".
- please Yeah yeah you break. I sneered
tired and diverting my gaze. The time to fix my eyes on a commercial for deodorant with big breasts and read the slogan "Feels good, not bad." I guess the poor students in boxes of pubs and sleazy bastards of people who are gods in this world. I will hide my eyes from this concentrated cynicism mediocre hoping evaporation, sublimation, all that, the lousy thing to me moaning earlier. She is just always there, in front of me so miserable. Contempt foul burning in my veins.
- Go thou hast broken conasse pitiful. It is thanks to grunts like you I should brush my teeth in the toilet of a station. I was twenty thousand euros in my account before thee twenty miles. And now most of my smell I must feel yours. I am not shit, I am not shit.
It starts with nothing in it is changing, moving his legs dragging its feet on the ground worn. That decision, for the third time in my life I get, whether homosexual or asexual. Without money it will be easier for me to keep those good promises. I think I see the bottom few meters ahead of me. So I still have a little cup sitting in front of my empty white tightening the knot of my scarf, wondering how long I would stay clean without shaving.
I ride the first train that opens onto the dock and I see that after it is written placard or Nice. I look at the layout of rails on the map, I decide that I will stop in Cannes, I always dream of being a movie star. When the controller goes I'm sitting in the corridor against the door of the car, he looks at me, I look at him and he just goes. I light a cigarette and an old lady who leaves the toilet seems outraged with his eyebrows. I handed him a cigarette and said
- You want one, there is chloroform in, as if to keep the bodies in morgues and horror movies.
There is a muffled sound coming out of his mouth O shocked. I smoke and perosnne does not complain and I am told that smoking should be from the trappings of poverty, despite its price. So too for a pittance destitute, still a pittance and Western pop. Smoke filled the old hall and the ugly door window there are trees without leaves, dry cold, darkened by winter. I put out the cigarette on a luggage before his white rod disappears entirely. "I save the" raw material of my joys and slid the rod into the pocket full of ashes in my woolly shirt, red and black. I doze in the same corner and a boy with big headphones on me to wake up to open the door and exit. I read and Cannes railway station is ugly and false ground. Wondering how people famous and rich and powerful had to accept that this city with this station or the city of cinema, even once in the year, even for ten days. It's cold and I back on the cigarettes I ordered brushes along with my hands numb. I spend the day on the beach watching three ships disappear and reappear in the mist, trying to understand what they do. Later a policeman yelling at the college by what they have smashed a glass bottle on the sand of the beach with a chain, and the policeman chained a speech where he shows his concern for the coming summer holiday on the same beach , bare foot. I wonder how her life is sad and empty he is concerned about this. All
the day I walk but no scavengers, no starlets, no film, only large hotels empty and looks like rich Russians mine mafia communist false. In the leather convertible, which would have had the ability by the price, to appease the horror of a great African city, the farther down the other side of the misty sea.
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