A night at the movies

After a delay of half a can of sardines/Ministry of Transportation bulletin board, it arrived and, like most things, the timetable, which apparently worked according to dog years in the Mayan era, was filled to the brim and while I was trying to find a single inch that wasn't infested with feet, I encountered stares and sneers.

It can be annoying, but when you're aware that this is one of the only situations where they know you're breathing, it's not so bothersome. Finally, I found a seat next to a young couple in their 25s who were apparently in the opening scene of Sex and the City. I took my headphones out of my pocket, which got tangled in my pocket again, as if they had no attention span!

Then I turned on my regular playlist, which included almost every type of rock and metal, and stared into space, as if what else was there to do? I glanced at the sign to check the number of stops, not many, about nine, oh well, and on the way back I glanced at the other passengers. Some were on their phones, talking, or kissing (I was thinking of vomit bags so I wouldn't throw up) and some were just staring out the window.

I started to chuckle at the depraved humanity that boasts the definition of a complete organism and yet in a place where people are crushed against each other, they still only see their asses as if the environment is a backdrop made of plastic bags and waiting for the sun to come out of all their holes.

This nightmare lasted for about 40 minutes and slowly gave way to a sweet dream of a Willy Wonka pillow set, a bi-weekly and a comedy full of screams and tomato paste. When the closing credits ended, the hall lights came on and so did the depressing realization that I had returned to reality.

I got up and walked with the rest of the herd to the stands when there was a loud criticism of the film, with most of them, as I passed through the door, I saw again the mall, the only place that can charge exorbitant amounts for things that a person needs on a daily basis just because of their nicknames.

I went down the stairs and made my way across the balcony. "Hey," I heard someone call from behind me and I immediately recognized the voice. When I turned around, I saw her. She was wearing a shirt from Gucci's latest collection under a black leather jacket that blended in with a kind of elegant roughness with her worn jeans and black boots. On her right hand were two golden diamond rings. The image of Lia came to mind again, despite her simple attire, they looked too similar.

"Ruth, what are you doing here?" She replied that she went to the movies. I tried to respond, but the words got stuck in my head as if they weren't stuck. I tried to get them out of my head, half-heartedly, until they finally came out in a stammer.

"Oh, beautiful." I replied with difficulty. To hell with this shit, until someone even addresses me, I beg to be able to think of a word properly, and why is the exception doing this? What kind of interest is there to be derived from a conversation from a dead-end that breaks your head for a letter! I don't know why I tried to continue to embarrass myself, but I asked her what movie "The Saw" I stared at her in amazement, even though I didn't look her in the eyes, which probably made it even more awkward.

"How did I not see you either?" I saw her stare, but her explanation that the hall was dark probably made sense. "Your husband isn't coming with you?" Because he would definitely be willing to invite you for a drink. I said in my head, why do you think she would want to?! She's carrying a piece of their nose. Do you really think she's going to sleep with you?!.

Who even talked about even though if. If what! If you invite her for a drink and cry about your life she will want to fuck you you are less than just one for her, yes?! And you are a toy that spoils the fun of the second type of lumps. Clog your drain. No, you will shut up!. "

He couldn't come he is in the hospital" The imaginary argument was cut short in an instant. What how" He had an accident on the way home from work" Her voice broke a little" Yesterday the doctors did an operation but he won't wake up I hope he will be okay" I regretted even asking.

Do you see what you caused?. I told you to shut up! I hope I can also order you something to drink. She sat down with consent and we went to the bar and while we were going to the bar. I couldn't ignore the way she said it. She didn't sound heartbroken but more worried when we got to the bar she ordered a double shot of tequila and since I am a proud son I ordered an Irish cream.

After a few drinks, the atmosphere between us soured, probably because of the alcohol, but it seemed to me like the first time I felt like I was with Mashiyahu. Our conversation included more things than I was even willing to share with my dolls. And to my surprise, she understood me, and since her story was no different, and for me, it was all the poop I threw up.

When it was around nine o'clock, I felt like my liver was trying to vomit, and what was left of my consciousness said it would be better to stay at home. "What an evening," I said to her, "Absolutely," she replied in the same tone, "A bit of an unexpected turn." And some more.

I thought to myself, at least I hope the lady likes the ending scene. She thought about it for a moment and sat down, maybe if it ended with her. I couldn't believe it at that moment. I felt like a character in a play. I could move my body and speak, but as if this whole scene was connected by strings that moved without rational logic. But when you think about it, logic is just an excuse that man invented so that he wouldn't have to break a sweat to know if something was a real must and any excuse can be used whenever it's convenient, right?

Apparently it was one of the primitive parts that were tattooed to spawn unnecessary function bugs with you ask me. Because that was the only explanation that I agreed to any of this and didn't run away the second it was about to happen. The ride in her luxurious Bummer that looked more like the Kardashian camper went about like a bar without the alcohol part. Which brought back the stuttering to hell with that shit! .

And the understanding of what I was doing but it didn't seem to bother her too much when we got down I stood in front of a huge farmhouse in the style of a country cream the windows and the tiles painted reddish brown blended like a painting with the combination of brick and wood. Ruth opened the door and went inside and when I was about to do the same I thought what the hell am I doing!

Why don't I fly away from here she's just my client damn it me sitting with her for a drink means I have to live with her!. And that's a waste of time anyway I could now continue to finish my projects. Or listen to music instead of being stuck here because of something that will subside anyway and somehow I'm the idiot who has to deal with his stupidity again.

But on the other hand she invited you to go without saying something that will make you worse, but since when do you care what others think, but still I knew that one way or another I would come out humiliated and an idiot like in any crappy human interaction.

But I still went in The house from the inside looked about the same as it did from the outside only with more paintings hanging on the walls in a much lower number of them a picture of what I assumed were her family.

"What took you so long?" she stood at the entrance to one of the rooms holding a cup of coffee. "I'm not really used to going into other people's houses after a night of drinking." All the best, Don Colawone. She shooed her away. "Neither am I, but my friend hasn't done anyone any harm yet."

I could think of a thousand and one reasons why that is, but I preferred not to. Instead, I turned my gaze to a painting that was much larger than the rest. A charcoal drawing that combined mountains, seas, and forests and deserts dotted here and there with buildings. There was something very surreal about it, but it still made some sense. "Where did that come from?" "Hmm," she looked at him, not understanding. I pointed to the painting. "Oh, that's what I drew." She sat back. "I called it the happy place." My Alvie was something permanent like that. "That's amazing."

Do you really think so? My husband always says it's just nonsense. "I didn't expect anything else from a guy who lived by literature and graphs, and by the way the house looked, it was clear who was after the sad one. After we stood there for a few minutes in silence, not the oppressive kind. The kind where you know what the other person is thinking, she said you should go to bed and mumbled something about arranging the goods, which made me think about my work and all the books I left alone on the shelf, and I said so did I.

She led me to the living room, which was almost twice the size of my house, and said I could sleep on the couch across from the fireplace, which spread its warmth throughout the room, along with a smell I couldn't quite pinpoint. I was too tired for that anyway.

I thanked her and lay down on the couch, which felt like a cloud of feathers, which made me think of my bumpy wooden box. "Do you need anything else?" She asked from the direction of the staircase. I replied no. "Good night," she said as she climbed the stairs. "Good night," I replied as I closed my eyes and at that moment I felt two things I'd never felt before: the desire to sleep! And a smile, a fucking smile, not the mask I was wearing on myself, but something real.