Intro..                                                                              ...Back
Draw...                                                                              ..Along
Poems..                                                                              ...More



       She wore brown-gray trousers with creases: and a soft-striped white shirt: the female
variant of the suit without a jacket: which has fewer buttons: and more hugs the body:    on
high heels far enough away from the show gravel:             in the Ceramica Magica pavilion
(professional hostesses had dust only on tips of high heels)         :she came to me lightly 
insistently - as if I reminded her of someone  - as if she's been waiting for me for a while
- nice: but it was rather in her neatness: she narrowed her eyes at me  (short-sighted - how
otherwise) :and she longed to talk with me.
       And it was strange: because:   I was in the labor law mode of "grateful and attentive
employee":  in which: I change: to an almost invisible man: humbly and wisely walking to any
place: what my kind colleagues determined for me (professionally and humanly   - much higher
on the rankings)      :and I was just about to: flexibly praise some snobby and disgustingly
minimalist bathroom paraphernalia.
       So I wandered there for five hours: in white stones: what are poured only on our more
preppy graves here:   admired the tubes sticking out of the wall of real titanium:       and
the battered concrete - so great and intimate in the bedroom  - and thought: for God's sake:
Peter: you will be a real technician-seller: here in the heart of Bologna:  you will soak up
this atmosphere: everywhere here are ideas for you:     these generous people took you here:
you: Nobody: somewhere from ass  - they deserve this jolly victory:    what you could saw on
their faces today - when you had lunch together:   in a small family restaurant just off the
highway.
       Well: I was very scared that someone saw me.
       She told me straight in the eye   - not quite fluent Italian: a few strange sentences
- her eyes weren't laughing - in fact: neither she all: no oversweetened chatter: from which
money stinks: rather sad. I don't know: what she wanted to tell me    - I didn't understand:
when she then understood: that I am non-linguist: she twisted her chin a little:  and pulled
out: "English?" :in true also unnecessarily - because when I'm stressed: I can say nor shit -
and I don't understand much Slovak either.
       There was a clearly discernible disappointment on her - she exhaled: Deutsch?
       I shook my head. Not.  It was starting to get annoying: that I'm such obvious jerk  -
so I nailed it: with a sudden step to the left: and I sat down: on a hard      - really very
minimalist bench - to put an end to this - what could we exchange:  except for glances   and
sighs(?) - but she sat down alongside me in a moment - she crossed her leg:  it was obvious:
she was very focused: she moved her hair at short intervals - turned: "Russian?"
       In my dreams: I smiled at her then:  like Uma in Kill Bill at Hattori Hanzo:  and our
long friendship began. We talked fluently until evening     - she gently touched my shoulder
occasionally: when she kind of whispered to me - something very delicious:      said quietly
about her father: who was a pianist in the best brothel in Milan - "you can't imagine:   how
long a woman's ass will be pressed on the wing ...   I drew her quickly in the hotel lobby -
just before: we said goodbye - it was half past three in the morning.
        Aria  (Only one letter Honey ;-)