What To Wear To A Banquet

Anisley Negrin (Santa Clara, 1981)

present perfect
I read sitting in a seat of a poem hospital Bukowski, in its original language, and I understood more than three words. It was about a guy who will give off a tooth of a piñazo. I think. I
understood only type, tooth piñazo.
I went to the bathroom after the final point, to spit the blood of a tooth that the gum off me without anything chewed, bitten at all, received a piñazo. Simply collapsed.
I wandered erratically through the corridors of the hospital with the phone off, brain off, the body off, except for sex, the sex has been more on than ever.
I've admired that old smelly to snuff and alcohol who sat next to me just to see the neckline abrírseme the rhythm of my breathing. I want to be like him. I would have the courage to sit next to a cute and sweet girl like me, just to see her cleavage, without fear to earn a slap or a scandal.
I laughed for me.
I remembered why I cried the other night: a movie. And I've asked several times why I cried last night. It was about a guy who will give off a tooth of a piñazo.
I regretted my tooth.
I never promised anyone who would promise anything to prevent me continue falling. I'm still young. Do not promise any crap.
I felt hungry, but hunger, some uncontrollable desire to eat a biscuit.
There are girls that smell like cake. I sense the smell sitting behind them on the buses, standing in the queue behind them, whistling, breathing, melting by them night.
I read that the cake is bad for the teeth: the itch, destroys, eats them.
I stopped reading books such crap. Now I read fiction. Books about vampire lovers increasingly distant from the real world, more and more real them the more unreal the world. This, yours, to come. All the worlds are the same: dumb.
I browsed a book by a famous writer, with four awards from the critics, where a girl smelling cake looked directly at the camera.
Did I say, perhaps, that I am behind the camera? I focused and unfocused
his face, I've stuck with my camera, but I could not catch his scent.
He inferred that this has been good for my dental health. I chewed slowly an imaginary cake. I have not lost more teeth. Then ...
girl I dreamed of that book, I compared it with which I pursued life with those who have lost their smell because I have won (I am a small predator). Do not look at anything except the smell.
I figured out that what I like is the smell of the girls and not the girls themselves.
I laughed.
I felt pathetic.
I cried.
I pity what's left of me after a deep breath.
I revived my mother putting the biscuits in the oven for breakfast. I remembered that it
I have no oven, no mother, no biscuits.
I have found that all I have is that smell, a book, a girl cute and sweet and smoky sitting in a filthy corner of the waiting room of this hospital. A fictional girl looking straight at the camera, watching me. Until I get the aroma.
I remembered my tooth, my hunger, smelly man to snuff and alcohol, their courage.
I went to her.