The other night I was walking and looking glass by Devoto. I wanted a special skirt, had a job interview and wanted to be well groomed, look like a professional. He tried several, and it was decided by a black. He was given a beautiful bag and was happy with the purchase. He left the room fully glazed back and looked again, she liked the style of business, but in that second look could not see the plastic people of the place, smiling mannequins wore clothing with labels and prices. No one else. He felt the skin crawl, he turned his eyes on the road and started back home. Something bothered her, she suddenly felt alone at Basin Street. He walked a few blocks to the metal bridge crossing the railroad tracks. Again somewhat overwhelmed. There was no one, no trains or the group of youths who used to drink a few beers in the bar of the platform. She was afraid but did not want to feel again, "a persecuted." Always looking back to see if anyone was to steal his wallet. He had all his money on, had saved some to buy some shoes. But it was late and waited for dinner. He went upstairs and walked by the cage of the bridge. He looked down the icy roads lit by mercury lamps. Fell across the Basin Street. And did not understand anything else. There was no street. Only water, a sort of Venetian canal. Obviously could not walk around there. Everything was different, did not recognize the place. Looked back and there was no bridge or roads or mercury lights. Only a handful of men. Tried to run but did not know in which direction. There was no "other side of Basin Street." There was only one side. The men surrounded her like a crazy, dressed in a straitjacket and taken to a house where there were other women, men and boys. And many rooms, one of those old home of what are called "casa chorizo". In each room there was a person. The new stripped of her skirt, cute bag and wallet. Was isolated in that part. Locked up. He felt a slight prick and a sea of \u200b\u200btranquility pushed her against the mattress. He relaxed and feel well liked, calm, no worries for a while. Slowly, he began to hear voices coming from the other rooms, acknowledging their uncles, their cousins \u200b\u200band vigilantes or something like that they were given medical instructions. Paid a little more attention and although he was doped was able to capture something like a chant, in unison, all repeating the same thing but could not identify which were the words of those who recite. He stood up and hit an eye to the peephole in the door of his room. People wandered around a large dining room, as those who are in nursing homes or psychiatric hospitals. He wondered why he was there, she and the other people, their relatives. The door opened and in walked a young man who gave precise instructions, he asked to be quiet and to think that from that moment on I would live there, that would be the new home and start a new life in him. I would not have contact with the outside and would not use cell phones or computers. Which would only be asked to do.
Having said that, the man left and closed the door. This time without a key. Women in their semi drowsiness and left the room as he could be headed for the exit door was unaccountably unlocked and unattended. Opening it he found "the side of Basin Street. "walked a few steps, he recognized the place, but returned to see the water, this time in a football field. drag a little here and another there agreed to the stands. He shouted, asked for help he needed the bridge over the tracks! But there was no bridge and no one. The field was empty and looking down from the stands did not work.
He was there a moment thinking about how to get their life on the other side of the street. I would look with your new skirt to go to the job interview, what shoes to buy. His mother was making dinner flashed through his mind. So could smell the aroma of the stew and see the face of his father, somewhere in the world. But it was a very short role. The white curtain closed again holding their arms and surrendered to sleepiness on your mattress.
the other side of Basin Street Bridge, people are at peace. They do what they asked. They say what they are taught to say. They see football. No adapters or phones. No skirts or interviews are required. And they eat what is given by a pipe that runs down the walls of the house (how good it is the name now!) "Chorizo."
