TE17 Mysterious Montenegro

whimper, as if afraid of themselves) during the days and nights, sighs in which nothing thinks or happens. Assorted dreams that remind him of those double or triple or even quadruple features at the movie theaters and on TV channels of his childhood. Extended sessions, they were called: you could enter any time, the showalready underway, and imagine everything you’d missed while trying to wrap your head around why that blonde had just slapped that man with the twisted smiled or wondering whether themanwhohad justdiedwas goodor bador just passing through like an extra, like a bit player with no role left to play. Movies of multiple or mixed genres, like dreams: westerns, biblical peplums, comedies, mysteries, horror, children’s (or horror with background music with the voice of little girl humming), some documentary that postulated the extraterrestrial origin of gods and pyramids, and those science fictions of the Cold War where everything ran through atomic energy and the imminent end of the world. Movies, often in lousy condition (depending on the honesty of the theater, a little poster at the box office warning of possible mishaps), cutting off, with scenes missing, subliminally teaching him the art of the ellipsis. And, sometimes, the movie continuing after the lights came up (after he wakes up) and after he falls back asleep (after the lights go out) to keep watching. What was showing? The Black Cat? Puss in Boots? When the Cat Comes? Cat on a Hot Tin Roof? The Aristocats? The Shadow of the Cat? The Cat That Couldn’t Sleep? To think of it in a blink of the eyes and what’s it called when you slept a little and nothing and something? Ah, yes. Catnaps: a feline sleeping. But, in his case, not the slumbers of those agile and aerodynamic cats, but the unsatisfying spells of round and heavy cats always on the laps of queens and fairies. Now he is almost always awake to daydreamand towatchnewmovies inperfect conditionwhere the 200 Rodrigo Fresán