TE19 Iberian Adventure

Autobiografia

a layer of dry piss. Uncertain where to begin, that second man, native of the aforementioned continent, shattered a plate against themarbleof thecounter, thinking itwouldnot breaksoeasilyand effectually on the wooden floor. There is art to everything—even to instill fear or shatter dishes some notions are required. He then opened the refrigerator, but quickly closed it, anguished by the vision he met: blue, curdled milk, hairy fruit, food transforming as per the evolution of species—initial stages of future glacial civilizations; given time, they would invent the wheel; Darwin could perfect his theses analyzing that ecosystem. He closed the refrigerator with a kick and, shortly afterwards, struck another kick on the closed door, denting the white paint, giving shape to that surface, trying to erase what he had seen as if it were possible to kick memories into oblivion—and it might be, as long as there is enough striking power. The one with the scar dropped José and, influenced, also hit him with a kick to his ribs and a few more until losing count. Now knowing where to continue with the devastation, a stormwith hands and feet, the African partner looked for some object worth destroying. He decided on a bread box made of little slats, cheap and old, smeared with grease, shelter to dry crusts and crumbs reduced to flour. That bread box might have been pine wood; it dismantled itself on the first contact with the counter corner—porous slats, decalcified bones of a hopeless elder. There was an instant of silence in their assault on rotten objects andapuppetwhoofferednoresistance, asimultaneoushesitation, or a mere rhythmic coincidence in the movements’ to-and-fro.

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