(Robert Longo, Series Men in the cities , 1979)
(*) you will recognize that there is nothing worse than finding an old lover in a corner. The chamfer is a transit area where you can not ignore the surprise, while the corner is fleeting and forgotten step free. Ten years ago not seen and it took another fifty to have the urge. In total amounted to an eternity sallow and flat, immune from any action that would give relief and which the grotesque vanity was solvent. When it has been so long at the mercy of silence and thinking it knows all of the other education applies to any other drive, is violent, judicial or mere desire to lose sight altogether. The methodical and worthwhile plan not find each other is replaced by a courtesy as useless as vicar of cowardice. We were brought up straightaway, so we got into one of those bars that open engagement at the corners to solve this type of embarrassing situation, we drink and we sat lopsided compromise, watching the clock and missing the next hour.
The bar was so minimal and the dossier to be solved: three tables against the wall with three chairs each, one of which faced the shift to client gotelé painting of a grayish yellow unadorned a short bar, dotted with rations wrapped in a sterile plastic stools and no church could do, a gaping hole leading into the kitchen and a noisy coffee at the center looked like a shrine waiting for the unwary. The one local woman led him into some meat but still young and beautiful avoiding tight look you in the face when you asked something more to protect the supply of foreign tedium that hostility. He moved with a determination that none of the customers expect from this place, his diligence was more about wanting to erase a past which no need of the trade. He wiped a table gathering remains thoroughly and took the dishes to the kitchen, piled in the sink, forming a symmetrical tower covered with aligned on one side and the other vessel, turned the tap against the wall and sat down to eat a meal and while he was mediated turns on the cooker to a steak alone. Finished eating, he folded his napkin carefully, lit a cigarette wiped the plate, washing dishes and the linoleum floor without moving in the same tile, closed the cabinet over the sink, he sat down on the only chair, lined feet, clasping his knees, raised his chest without looking up and was listening to the sounds uninteresting scarce and deaf who came from the bar. The first sun of sitting on the floor drew the same line wide, dirty and faithfully every evening, got up to straighten the rod of the blind that occurred until a uniform tone shades. The precision of their movements seem to obey a secret plan to submit to a rigorous site cadastre search any flight line and measured any horizon, starting with himself, preventing any hint of adventure that could make it recognize and escape from the squalor of and local work. With every gesture exact absences showed he wanted to hide, as many holes as they did in the fringe matted with a twitch of two fingers. Its purpose of links was so careful to avoid taking him out with such a lack of greed and piety. Returned to the kitchen, picked up something inconceivable from the ground, stooping teaching a clean round neckline of which was no longer responsible and asking commit crimes of disorder. Came due.
(...)
- I've been ignored, not even you've had coffee, suddenly I heard that the reason for being there, waking reality. The truth is that I was as witty as ever.
(*) Nickjournal Published in the July 7, 2009
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