tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13588545.post-1119201352036679112005-06-19T19:14:00.000+02:002005-07-28T15:14:18.433+02:00<b>S</b>ip of black, warm coffee on an empty stomach, after drunk night. Barking of smoked cigarettes from the deep bottom of the lungs. Joy of the upcoming lunch. Popular music and afternoon buzz. Then restaurant dinner and black coffee again. Late afternoon Rastoder decides to sunk into the beer. <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6115/1200/1600/3-Pivo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6115/1200/320/3-Pivo.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />- Who knows, maybe this time I shall not spring up into dawn blazed away from the cheap liquor, bad cigars and worst of the personal stories. - he was thinking.<br /><br /><b>J</b>ust when he decided to order another pint, he has been accompanied by <i>her</i>. She sat on the barstool, merely a cubit away from him.<br /><br /><b>A</b>fter short snooping like:<br />- Please ask <i>mademoiselle </i>what would she like for a drink,<br />- I have never seen You here before, <i>monseigneur</i>,<br />- <i>Voila</i>, sometimes I just drop by, but let me introduce myself,<br />- Ok, I'm Vera,<br />- I'm Istvan, pleasure's all mine,<br />- I work at the nearby <i>boutique</i>,<br />- That should explain everything. I'm <i>brand-new</i> in this town...<br /><br /><b>C</b>onversation entrenched up on her instant confession:<br />- You know, I'm renewing first year on the High, otherwise I'm from Crvenka, father is retired sergeant, he drinks a lot, mother lectures Russian, she aches from the osteoporosis, they cannot support me, I have to work, I'm squatting public hostel for students, in secret, all professors are morons, anyway... By the way, guys over here are sham, like, they're all trendy, they act as they're cool, but they're just cretins. Comprendo? There is no soulmate, someone who listens, understands and cares for something. Who reads books, for instance. So far, everyone is in Brazilian soap operas, but I care, I read damned books. I read just about... The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho, and that sort of things. It discharges me. He's so, you know, mystic...</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6115/1200/1600/3-Vera.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6115/1200/320/3-Vera.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />- Yes, absolutely, yes absolutely... - Rastoder was confirming occasionally. He was focused on boldness of her red lips. From time to time, cold, salty drop of sweat poured off his brows.<br /><br /><b>S</b>o, after preliminary interview, carried out within the faint eyes of the bartender, Rastoder bargained another wet night, spiced with the charmy spell of a student broad.<br /><br /><b>S</b>he just started, smoothly and firmly, to exchange her professors from the High School of Pedagogy for the professors of the nightclubs' high bars.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!-- google_ad_client = "pub-8611827934816256"; google_ad_width = 468; google_ad_height = 60; google_ad_format = "468x60_as"; google_ad_type = "text_image"; google_ad_channel ="2403465966"; //--></script> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js"> </script></div>Istvan Rastoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02182192191600288719noreply@blogger.com