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January 17, 2005

The shopping spree - dead engine

Haven't you seen us?

Haven't you seen us crumbling thru Lou, Red, Muse and me, in the barrier, outside of the bunker, making jokes and faces, making noise. To the square in front of the Cathedral I tried to kill Lou in the fountain. And when a blond haired policeman shook his hand and said: "Don't you, guuuuys, peeeeople, you'd better go".

High.

Gumshoe, bring bills along. Machines on auto-respond, hail the crew in, hang on, shut up, park kid, enjoy a few faces, vespashooting, polished faces of pink churches, a few stars, stoned angels sharing sympathetic fears from higher grounds.

Deploy.

Lou bought the future in his hand, by the square, and he closed the door behind him for a week, and I: "I've told you stupid, that guy here or what doesn't looks like being comfortable". And he yelled out a: "But it's true, stupid!" We played with the guys and it was beautiful and Red and the guys.

Down and up, checking paperbacks, magazines and the panels they set, out, and I told you, colorful, slim, not a solid scene, but nothing and proceed onto Benetton's new color matrix which was 012 colors last year and the persistent cork-full high-heels migrating to men's. Watch your steps, Red, isn't that disgusting? No, but up, higher, take a left, rushing the line, buy America, fold down two buttoned-up immaculate white shirts, low collar chinese, Muse says Calcutta, minimal for the masses and 3 pairs of linen pants 3 different colors just a little too long. And down, get those wet-orange pants, which is a double, and carry em all on your chest like an infant, and thru a pile of black ties, all black and all shiny dipping in big blue bags, printed and glued in Manila. Can we add a few more? But higher? Lou? No. Down, slowly, chasing jewelry now and making up some. A bellybutton thing, I pause, or a umbilical cord I call it, that is crazy? I know shoes are getting less pointy this year neither they are getting round and men's still on ephedrine, redbull for free for all. Ice cream, fast, leave chocolate dripping to the birds, flying low and I get a scare when the bird's eye darts 2 inches out of my shoulder and I go down. Down and up. Stretched-up underwear on display, pink, green but faint, the t-rex is missing, can catch a UFO if I want to. Drop a few on black bulk sunglasses I look good in the glass, I dunno, and Red's browsing to find the match and she doesn't. Hair color comfortable, 1973, smiles my babe. Jumping from the sun side to the shade SIDE and tip-tapping and I'm in deep, touch a few bottles, thinking of the one we're working, classy, classic, tall, fat, transparent? Anything, no, down. Translucent! Laughs. The line at the cosmetic's ward is a waiting room. Dykes get full consultation on issues the least likely and screening on shades and tints, related, unrelated and color-coded, mode d'employ, bon jour Coco. Browsing Chanel, laughing at Kenzo's boxes. Giant eyeliner, blue, floating. Decompressing, wake up on the stairways. Enough with the charm and in the sun again, up.

Bo took me to McDonalds because she likes hamburgers, lazy by the window, her fish untouched, Italian restaurants and people and the streets, lonely men white like blankets beyond the walls, bleached bones, the metro unfinished and the neon lights, taxi drivers.

And down.

A phone, I don't want one but slow down, target the table right, a shiny metal oasis by the door with the palm tree, coffee time. We are sitting down, scanning faces, drinking water and talking about umbilical cords made of silver, gold, white pearls and black pearls. Will suit the dying trend of low ass pants and hair shirts. Laughs. Two more summers? Tie it to your 501, add tiny cowbells, make a mess. Black out shoes, orange, low ass boots, comrades getting high.

You haven't seen us.

Up? No, down, down fast for a dip into the fish market mess, blood everywhere, lambs sliced in halves, chopping pig's head with the chainsaw and is full of tourists taking photos and smiling at the slaughtering. Observations, exotica, the med's photo album. But flowers come first. We get 5 fishes, one is smiling, the others crying to be done for good, money passes by, coins shimmering, it's spring's, lemons, prepped up lettuce and more of the guts. I carry my dead boys thru faces perplexed, tired, crying kids in tow of bigger customers. Wait, up, no. Down, my salad man smiles and we get 3, pistachio, nuts, some more, more and pine nuts. Where did I drop them?

And I got this thing, she said, that we're off-center and we feel good wherever it's not home, On the metro again, a line to the other, marking the time, tracking down.

Second floor at the bank, she was afraid she could stumble at each step, but I could see everything and I covered her eyes with my hand. Killing time at the Yamamay shop-front aNd it was as if there was nothing better than ice cream. Turn left, watch the water, while the dead stones by the bridge, the trembling lights, surrounding And the students, inviting you to come visit the university, explaining with their broken English how funny the students are and how beautiful the town can be with the good friends and you cannot be sad because it's home.

Walking in the park under the bridges line, silver sparkles in the waterway, down, down to the bridge. And high and Red was giving away beers, we all got drunk and had fried fish and meatballs and wine, and Kelly was shaking the money yelling "Ehi, should have seen the bus skipping like a stone" we screamed out louder, and I didn't know what he was talking about.

You haven't seen us, and drank again. I smiled to Lou 'cause he told me my name gained a Whoopee from the crowded hall. Kudos our hero.

Wait, up.

Kids start pouring out of schools everywhere, waves of little bodies scattered and noisy, laughing and phoning to locate cars, parents. This is the slow ride.

up, take a left now and take a break now, sit, scream, scare two with the evil eye, have a cigarette, talk of the weather. Things are now almost getting better. Nothing, crashing, undoing and dressing up, tossing sugar-cubes and smiles over my shoulders.

AND I was somewhere else all the time and now I'm still somewhere else and Muse, she got her job, she gets tired, lazy and sweet as she is.

Here comes the kid and everybody smile again under a light shower of invisible raindrops.

© Fortunato Caragliano

Posted by lck at January 17, 2005 02:57 PM