warm, hypnotic music too high, people yelling trying to overcome it, hot glued hair to the skin, while the feeling of being sucked up and rejected by the crowd.
a part of you wants to become invisible, so you can observe the environment without any problems.
Clara is one that looks at everything carefully.
every little detail.
has already had a couple of cocktails, the right ones to walk sway without being ridiculous, is now ready for the third, one that allows her to raise her chin and eyes that touch support.
looks around, her friend behind the bar, leg resting on the side of the guy who knew the wardrobe, while he keeps one hand under the knee, throws his head back with a flourish, Clara records the movement, the single frame, stockings work, which raises her skirt, the folds that form the insertion of the legs, the hand of him that just shrinks the throat of her beats.
See Clara, the girl who gets to see the counter and moving the inept guy, kiss the bartender. Watch
Clara, watch the usual losers bounced bad, sad in their fifties, the girls that giggle, those who can not afford clothes that show off the beautiful and impossible that you will get pregnant from the body shop gym the entire sample, the local unit to organize something in this Saturday night that seem to have nothing different from other days, if not more time to be bored.
the city is small.
you know how it turns out the story of anyone, though, as Clara, look pretty. Watch
Clara and feels as he watches someone is watching her.
a hand closes around her wrist, a nose is wedged between the neck and ear, preventing it from turning around "you should let your hair grow. Should. Let them grow and pick them to leave uncovered head," her voice tickles the skin and then become a bite hairline and a shiver down the spine and warm.
the hand leaves.
Clara does not turn around.
Clara does not look this time.
fondles his wrist and go get a drink.
the town is small, you can look around and see if you like, who goes with who, who makes the horns to who, who tells more lies than others.
is why Clara caresses the wrist and does not look, for once not want to know how it will end.
for this and because he knows who is the voice.
Clara amused smiles, throws his jacket over his shoulders and exits.
sits on the wall outside the room and lights a cigarette, he knows that is a matter of minutes.
the third mouthful of furtive fingers are caught in his hair from the neck, back, huddle around the locks and, slowly but steadily, pull your head back, exposing his throat with a pair of lips that are lowered to caress the skin back toward the mouth of Clara, ajar, and with the corners pulled upwards by malice.
"there you put the time ..."
"few minutes, you have not even finished his cigarette!"
"two years since I told you that if you wanted you had to catch me by surprise"
"but you're not surprised, really, is not it?"
"no, not '
" You see everything, "
" I look around but I only see what I see, like everyone else "
" so you do not I? "
"depends on what you want from me?"
"all you have to give, everything I can take all that I can steal everything you do not know you have "
" you hands strong enough for this? "
hands to pull down the wall, the run with his face pressed against the concrete and raise the skirt.
Clara closes his eyes.
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