Cando
woke beer cans were there. I could barely open my eyes to light. The temples were asking me caffeine. I went to the kitchen and, as I could, I arranged everything so I heard and smelled the coffee as it grew. I took advantage to open the door with narrowed eyes and pick up the newspaper. Nothing. A beer can was the right thing at the entrance. It was the second time in a week that failed to deliver the newspaper. Not that I care what happens in the world. I care what happens in baseball.
returned to my coffee with the strange feeling that I had to read something while sipping the brew. What remedy. El Pais Digital. The monitor light touches my hypothalamus. I put on sunglasses. I decide to read my mail. Usual. Chain Poets. Poems sent daily with unusual consistency. They have created a niche in which each is a great writer, very important for the continuation of the species. Drew my attention to spam. Beaver Milagros message from Cancer. Snatch a smile. The coffee is delightfully aromatic and spam with a name suggestive. Open the message:
Hi, Dear
girls babes want Sex Find Sex Partners
Today
secant.versolt.com / g /
you pick caucasus sportsmen boucher grossman racial etiquette centrifuge globulin onomatopoeic blackbird Batchelder tetrahedra gelable rev stefan karl polity catholicism implore battlefield desiderata woodside ferry fiat tabloid double bunny
spume mars trip pushbutton dependent Blockade impish protoplasmic nasty dick rib break sacrilegious frenzy certiorari diploid spectacle townsend buckhorn locomotory ballot merlin mild nodular
Your ingrown wastage, Milagros
This is poetry, I could say to himself. My life has a purpose. Somehow communicate with Milagros Beaver. Then I hear that someone is in my room. Someone calls my name with an unknown voice.
The illustration, Munch Nitemare of Kebol Shevic, belongs to the collection Antoine Martorra private.
