terça-feira, 13 de novembro de 2007
leading you
Two days a week I arrive at an office building and have to give the reception my passport number before I can go in. I arrive at a time when a lot of english teachers are arriving. One guy today, who I heard speaks six languaged and who I overheard today speaking english with a germo-slavic accent, smelled like some eastern bloc-issue cologne I would guess to be milky green.
Adjunct the glass lobby, the smokers section is through a glass wall, some benches under the lid of the second floor. Lots of days while I wait a blind guy comes out of the turnstyle via gentle stick smacking and makes his way to the bench near the door. This is in the early morning, so I suppose he has just gone upstairs and left his things and come back for what is probably not his first cigarrette of the day, unless he takes the nicotene as some kind of shot that propels him through his morning.
On the bench he crosses his legs and lightes up and smokes deeply. The cheeks go in, the tip goes conical. His eyes, as this is the kind of blindman he is for us observer, are calm, closed and unmoving, but he doesn't always take a regular breath among drags and face-enveloping outpuffs.
"Does a blind man enjoy a cigarrette more?" I ask myself in the morning, having long abandoned interesting thoughts. And another, "Does he know he hits it so much harder than everyone else?"to which I answer.
Probly
Adjunct the glass lobby, the smokers section is through a glass wall, some benches under the lid of the second floor. Lots of days while I wait a blind guy comes out of the turnstyle via gentle stick smacking and makes his way to the bench near the door. This is in the early morning, so I suppose he has just gone upstairs and left his things and come back for what is probably not his first cigarrette of the day, unless he takes the nicotene as some kind of shot that propels him through his morning.
On the bench he crosses his legs and lightes up and smokes deeply. The cheeks go in, the tip goes conical. His eyes, as this is the kind of blindman he is for us observer, are calm, closed and unmoving, but he doesn't always take a regular breath among drags and face-enveloping outpuffs.
"Does a blind man enjoy a cigarrette more?" I ask myself in the morning, having long abandoned interesting thoughts. And another, "Does he know he hits it so much harder than everyone else?"to which I answer.
Probly
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