The Note

Sugestão de acompanhamento musical:

Second, minute or hour - Jack Peñate

“Out the door step
Down the stairs
`Round the corner”

You’re enjoying a celestial moment: “Wouldn’t it be great that all people should misbehave? That’d probably leave art critics pretty jobless, right?” As i agree with you, a chinese rubber - stole from the chinese store near the chinese neighborhood that’s crowded with Brazilians – picks my hand and harmlessly hit you in the nose.

That’s in Lisbon –

You fancy a walk down a Bairro Alto`s street, after a few smoking knock-outs at your electric-heated bedroom, and get dazzled in small wonders. To have someone who can get you a couple of laughs with pointless fairytales. “Buy them, if necessary – come on!”
All the things you want are exceedingly simple to predict, but in order to get them – that’s where the rob lies. Women seem to find talent very sexy. And you want it bad – as normal things make you scared. A few things do.
I`ll tell you that three clouds are starring at your sea sized lips, pushing each other for the better view of it. Your easy going, yet suspicious and mean two-headed personality will obviously believe it. “Where, where??”

We move to a smokey aired bar. My first time here, and probably your last since you’re moving abroad. The pub’s quiet, but we`re not alone. (Oh, you`ve just hit the glass entrance badly as the push and pull concepts mean nothing to you whatsoever!)
There’s a guy sitting in the dark corner of the bar, just near the toilets. He’s got long dark hair, seems to have a broken nose and wears a yellow t-shirt saying dirty little rock star. He didn’t see the hitting glass thing, but you’re not aware of it. Simultaneously, the thought of marrying him crosses your mind out loud as you’re dead scared of even talk to him. I`ll say “Honey, you taste really sweet - look at him”.
He got up and approaches us. You’re face turns orange, so effortlessly orange that you can’t even simulate a sudden toilet needed run with the argument of having a terrible nightmare last night, where you saw Morrisey chasing a turkey with a bloody fork.

You’re forehead hit’s the table and you wake up. Not only you’re bipolar, but now you also fall asleep dreaming dreams as if. You can’t believe it – “you`re mean, are you joking with me?”

- Hey`a, give us two pints mate! Let’s have a toast to the pointless - i say –

- Hummm if Amy Whinehouse was here right now, i’d tell her that you had Bonjovi in
your mp3 for quite some time. That’d be amazing, wouldn’t it? –

- If those kids who play in that amazingly talented band named Kook`s were here, i would lock them with you in this very pub’s bathroom for two weeks so you could all celebrate their useless little ways of being rock n` roll teddy bears –

You feel like dancing so two shots of vodka land in our table. Then two more of absinth and you feel ready to sing, instead of dancing. We move into a Karaoke bar named “In the Mood for Candies” and none of us notice that it`s a gay pub. There`s a guy with a pink bald head on the piano, playing the blues. You tell him to stop, “`cause these are my five minutes of fame (apart from the fact that i`m going to be an acclaimed music journalist – shhhhhttttt!)”
You first start with Sloppy Joe’s “Six Little Monsters” and in the middle of the core a sudden deadly mood flies throughout the pub, as your throat yell’s Roy Robinson’s “Crying”.

What’s wrong with you!?
Ohh, i see…
In the meantime, all people head to the stage and start crying over you and i had to do my daily good action by screaming at them: “Hey, you know what? She`s bipolar! -
So give us two shots of vodka and get the fuck out of here!”
You start laughing as a maniac, not only because of this, as a damned big moustache was making out with a policeman that you know. Oh, there’s another reason: the piano man is waving at me.
You`re mean. We leave.

Our next stop, a buisy café full of brilliant carachters where we, starved people, order four cheese toasties that i actually ate them all - as you got yourself locked up in the toilettes doing what you know you did. Next thing we know, we woke up in a garden’s bench full of pigeons and lovely old couples around us, doing their morning walk. The sun`d work his way on us so badly, that we laughed for our lives looking at each other’s half red faces.
“Hey, what’s that?” – I ask you
A Jack Daniel`s full bottle was just next to us, stuck on that garden bench by a long string. It also had a small piece of paper in the bottom.

“I never thought you could beat me in a pint shot, Sophie.
P.S – we`ll beat the bad guys!
George Walker B. (a man of honour)”

R.C