a "phenomenon" writes ... New Hoile Storyteller, and some day my box lives a rebound and outlets for reflection ... I have heard words to write (in no particular order and not exhaustive): things that make us feel good and feel alive, the order that there must be these things that otherwise we pissed off, which of these things they really value; what each of us must do just for being a man and not a puppet of fear, of living and being, a sense of nothingness, of emptiness, to run from or where we can get no escape, and the relationship with others and even God I have my say about each of these things ... but no ... of people who want answers right there too, while around I only see questions (and the brothel of people there in the attic these days is proof). But meanwhile I was reminded of a beautiful story Heminghway, another man who had many questions and few answers, but no fear of living. Be patient if you attack him by surprise in the bottom of the mail as you do with the butts (or boogers) under the chair. Read it while you smoke a cigarette. It's worth it. Phenomenon.
a clean, well-lighted: It was late and everyone had left the cafe except an old man sitting in the shade the leaves of the tree formed against the electric light. By day the road was dusty, but the dew at night staring at the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and at night there was a silence and he noticed the difference. A two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man was a bit 'drunk, and despite being a good client they knew that if he had drunk a bit' too much if he would leave without pay, so they kept an eye on. "Last week he tried to commit suicide," said a waiter. "Why?" "He was desperate." "For what?" "Nothing." "As you know it was nothing?" "He has a lot of money." They sat together at a table against the wall near the door of the cafe and looked at the sidewalk where the tables were all empty except the one where the old man sat in the shade of the leaves of the tree that the wind was moving slightly. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The street light shone the number of brass that the soldier was on the collar. The girl was without her hat and walked hurriedly to his side. "It will pluck from the guards," said a waiter. "Who cares if he gets what he wants?" "It was better to take off from the road. The guard the fish store.'s Been five minutes ago." The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his glass plate. The younger waiter went over to him. "What do you want?" The old man looked at him. "Another brandy," he said. "You'll be drunk," said the waiter. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away. "It will stay all night," said his colleague. "I began to have sleep. I never go to bed before three. He should kill himself last week. "The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the cafe and marched towards the table of the old. She put down the saucer and poured the glass of brandy." He should kill himself last week, "said the deaf. The old man made signs with his finger. "Another little 'he said. The waiter filled his glass until the brandy slopped over and ran down along the stem of the glass in the first plate of the stack." Thanks, "said the old man. The waiter took the bottle in the cafe. He sat down at the table with his colleague. "Now he's drunk," he said. "He's drunk every night." "Because he wanted to kill himself?" "How do I know?" "How?" "He hung himself with a rope." "Who cut him down?" "His niece." "Why did they do?" "Fear for his soul." "How much money do you have?" "Happy." "It will have eighty." "Perhaps a few more." "I wish he would go home. I never go to bed before three. It's that time of going to bed?" "He got up because he likes" "He is alone. I do not. In bed I have a wife waiting for me." "Once we had him too." "Now a wife does not do any good." "Who knows, maybe with a wife would be better off." "The bay your niece. You said she cut him down." "I know." "I would not be so old. The old men are dirty." "Not always. This old man is clean. Without stain to drink. Even now, drunk. Look at him. "" I do not want to watch it. I wish he would go home. Has no respect for those who must work. "The old man looked up from his glass, looked at the square, and then the two waiters." Another brandy, "he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry to him." Finished " he said, speaking with that omission of syntax that they use when they turn to stupid or drunk to strangers. "Tonight's all. Close now. "" Another, "said the old man." No. Finished. "The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head. The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took from his pocket a leather purse and paid, leaving half a peseta tip. The waiter watched him as he walked away down the road, that old man walking unsteadily but with dignity. "Why do not you let stay here and drink?" asked the waiter who was in no hurry. They were lowering the blinds. "I'm not yet half past two." "I want to go to bed." "What hour?" "For me, more than for him." "An hour is the same for everyone." "You talk like an old man too. It can buy a bottle and drink at home." "This is not the same thing." "No, not the same thing," admitted the waiter married. He did not want to be unfair. She was only a hurry. "And you? Not you're afraid to go home before the usual hour? "" You're trying to insult me? "" No, hombre, only to tell a joke. "" No, "said the waiter who was in a hurry, after straightening down the metal shutters . I have confidence. I am full of confidence. "" You have youth, confidence, and a job, "the older waiter said." You have everything. "" And what do you lack? "" Everything but work. "" You have everything I have. "" No. I never had confidence and I am not young. "" Come on. Stop talking nonsense and locks. "" I am of those who like to stay up late at the cafe, "the older waiter said." With those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night. "" I want to go home and to bed. "" We're two different races, "said the older waiter. Now she was dressed to go home." It's not just youth and confidence although they are beautiful things. Every night I am reluctant to close because there may be someone who needs the cafe. "" Hombre, there are bodegas open all night. "" You do not understand. This coffee is a nice, clean. It is well lighted. The light is very good, and now there are also shadows of the leaves. "" Good night, "said the younger waiter." Good night, "said the other. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself. It is the light, of course, but we the room is nice and clean. It does not take the music. The music certainly does not want us. And you can not be dignified standing in front of a bank, although these hours of the night for a bench that's all they give you. What was he afraid? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing. It was just that, and all we wanted was light, and a certain order and some cleaning. Some lived in it and not felt anything, but he knew it was all nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada on both the thy will be nada in nada as in nada nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada nadaci our nadiamo like us our nada and nada but deliver us not nadarci in da1 nada, pues nada, Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before the counter of a bar with a sleek coffee maker with steam. "What's the matter?" asked the bartender. "Nada." "Otro spot mas" said the bartender, and turned away. "A cup" the waiter said. The bartender poured it. "The light is very bright and pleasant, but the bank is not polished," said the waiter. The bartender looked at him, but did not answer. It was too late to make conversation. "You want another copita?" asked the bartender. "No thanks" said the waiter, and left. He did not like either the bar or bodegas. A clean coffee, lit well, it was a very different thing. Now, without thinking about it, he would return to his room. It would be put to bed and finally, at dawn, he would fall asleep. After all, he said, it's probably only insomnia. Who knows how many have it.
Anyone who wanted to write something to stick up there can do the usual address, I'll then transfer it here, for the comments however, are below .. A Storyteller
soon.
