Downtown.
Downstairs.
Two blacks and Suzanne, the blonde hair, super-perfect girl, next to me. In the Pearl District. 12th Av. Silk Vietnamitese Restaurant.
And the iPhone is telling me that this Arcade Fire is called «Keep the Car Running».
The only thing I know is my stomach belongs to me.
And nobody is going to break it any longer.
I said.
//
Meanwhile, Jhon and Martin sat down in the next table. They looked at each other. 2 seconds. And they kissed shortly.
The waitress did not trust the age. So, Martin had to show the ID. They laughed. Kissed again. Drank a couple of beers.
//
The train is going to depart, outside.
So, do not stop inside.
Keep Running your Car, man, Keep Running….
No pares joder!
Embrace your stomach and run, man, run…
And the most important thing, do not look it back.
//
I left the table like hurricane.
Jhon and Martin were steady looking at me, surprisingly, this time they did not kiss each other. They ate. And follow my trace, looking at my yellow trainers.
Keep Running your Car.
(Who’s gonna ride your wild horses?)
Someday.
Agur.