Wednesday, July 27, 2005

The girl from Greece

She proudly shows her dress and her shoes to me and I like it. In the empty rotunda, the black piano man with white gloves plays Boogie-Woogie. I am trembling inside. This is not the right moment. The businessmen are joking around. Carlos, she shouts. She is drinking beer, the city from above is made from hazy lines and muddy colors, there is bewilderment in her eyes. I paint dragons with seven heads, they guard the access to the hill. She is laughing: You had bad dreams? Carlos, the Italian guy, is pulling funny faces. Marion, the saleswoman with red strands in her hair, pretends to be drunk, she wants to be a photographer, I like her face. The sun gets down. The girl from Greece shivers, feels chilly. She has something in her eyes that could rescue me, cut off the seven heads of the dragon. I like your tie, somebody’s joking, it is Martyn, the Australian. Hey, he says, I thought you would be happy with her tonight. I touch her skin, the lamp sheds light onto us, they are watching us, she says. Let’s go back. The dragon raises his heads, the seven heads grinning like seven devils. They put bonds of steel to my mouth, hoarseness into my voice. I fell in love with you, pebbles echo under my feet. This is not the right moment. The Chinese girl talks to me but I do not listen.

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