terça-feira, 2 de fevereiro de 2010

New Bond

You rush down to the hotel lobby with your hunger and your good humor. You just can’t wait to get back to the action. Your bags are unopened, and you don’t even know what the shower looks like because it’s all about this lobby right now. There is a beautiful chandelier that’s way too high to swing from, a string quartet playing what sounds like Haydn and some cute antique furniture. You sit down. The most you can fit on these little tables is a plate of cheese and two glasses of wine and that’s fine with you. You order a plate of cheese and two glasses of wine and wait. You’re waiting to muster the courage to talk to her. You saw her when you checked in. She is still alone. Everyone is alone here. She’s wearing those big hipster glasses that you love, reading Memoirs of A Cliche, but you forgive her because she’s beautiful and she’s ‘Mary-Kate’ skinny. When your strategy arrives it looks delicious and you can smell the Manchego cheese even though you’re still coming off your sinus infection. You become what you think is “Sean Connery James Bond” but to her you’ll be more like “Timothy Dalton James Bond” when you say: “Would you like to sit with me and have my other glass of wine?” She tells you that she’s allergic to wine and that she’s waiting for her boyfriend who is in the string quartet playing in the lobby. You look over to the musicians in ties and dresses and deduce that he’s the nerdy looking “second violin motherfucker” with the boring haircut. You stand there making small talk, looking for a recovery, a way out of this situation, a way to save face, but she tortures you by acting interested and asking a million questions. Meanwhile your Manchego is melting and your wine probably has a fly in it. Little do you know that in that moment, behind you, trying to check-in (but she’s lost her ID), is your soulmate. Your fuckingsoulmate. You will meet her 3 days from now in the early morning. You’ll meet this perfect stranger 4 hours before you are going to have to leave to go back home. You will meet her at the ATM when it has decided to run out of 20s. You’ll have all the right things in common. You guys will hang out in her hotel room because you’ve already checked out of yours. She bought two Betsey Johnson dresses and she’ll model them for you. You will compliment her shoulders (something about your grandmother, Egypt and the purr of a cat), and she will lean down and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. This is what you’ll be thinking about on the plane when turbulence hits. You can’t wait to see her back in New York. She lives 4 blocks away from your gym and she’ll be back on Friday.

bronques.wordpress é um site com fotos e pequenas historias, algumas trash e outras bonitinhas.
Um passa-tempo divertido. 
Mas num vale ter preguiça de ler né

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