FunCulturalThe Nazarene (Saturday afternoon stories)

The Nazarene (Saturday afternoon stories)

It was at Don Manuel’s store that I started to feel strange. Cabezas handed me a beer and I drank it as usual, normal, relaxed, happy to have a cold one, but when I brought it to my mouth I saw that the bottle glowed as if it were rather filled with firefly juice or something like that.

I know that there is nothing more sacred than the drink, but from the shock it fell from my hand and broke on the floor, leaving its contents free: pure specks of light that rose to the ceiling studded with fly shit, and there they disappeared . Poof! No more.

Later, in the micro field, when we were in full collation with those of the next neighborhood in a corner kick, when I jumped between Chuqui and Parra to head the ball, I simply kept straight and up, as if the force gravity would have suddenly dissipated on the Los Arrayanes Polytechnic microfootball field. I went up and up and the ball passed under my tennis shoes in the direction of nowhere, and the heads of my bewildered friends were barely left below, staring at me from the chunks of chipped concrete on the court. Everything, in slow motion, became one of those laboratory ant nests. A hole opened in my stomach and the only thing I could think of was that I might have had helium instead of lulo juice for lunch. Let’s see: rice with chicken, fried banana and lulo juice, no more. What if it was suddenly the marijuana bar that we messed with Chuqui when we left the play?

We suggest you read: The city of centenarians heralds the future in an aging China

But that was the other one, Maestro Albarracín, in the middle of the morning volley, stretched a brick for me to break it with the trowel quickly, wham! And when I started hitting it with the edge, it was a French bread very chubby, golden and crispy. Very fresh. Obviously, the Master was emberracó and told me even what I was going to die of, and that if I was very hungry then that I went to my mother’s house to have it just filled up. As if I could tell my mother some of the things that have happened to me lately. I’m sure I’m scared to death. Why give the old lady more worries? She can’t imagine what happens to me, for example, when she now gives me the red wine in the morning, that I have to pour it down the siphon of the dishwasher as soon as she is careless because it turns purple and tastes like pure wine or fermented juice, like the chicha, but dark.

Not to mention the other night when we met with the Navy. We were in full touch-touch, already about to crown, home alone and such, but when I began to take off her blouse and unbutton her jean, I wasn’t able to. No one would have been capable, nor would a porn actor have been capable. It was nothing but putting a finger on it and my hands were transformed into jets of light, the Navy floated on the Cuatrotigres from its bed, it also began to release an intense light from its mouth, its ears and its eyes. And then, when we turned off like candles, she smiled at me, all pretty, all tender, with those beaten puppy eyes full of tears of happiness, and she told me that I was divine and that no man had ever made her feel what I had. , and how rich, and that again. And me: which time again, luck is that I tell him. If we can’t even get to the ground! So I put my shirt on and ran out.

Follow the news of El Espectador on Google News

You might be interested in reading: History of Literature: “Gargantúa and Pantagruel”, by François Rabelais

As things are going I will have to never leave my room again and tell my old woman to pass the three blows through a crack or something like that. But that’s not life either. Hiding like an animal without having done something wrong? Why is all this happening to me? Could it be that I have a curse or someone prayed to me or the very whores possessed me?

That, I am going to tell Father Ancízar, he is the only one who can help me with an issue like this. Severe video. Also, he’s indebted to me since he asked me to help move the Fallen Lord out of the church and we fell off, turning into shit, well, dust. I have not said anything to anyone, not even my mother. If I even had to invent that the cuts and scratches with which I arrived that night were from work at the construction site due to the dryness of the cement. No way to tell him that I too became like a Christ after Father Ancízar crushed me with his Fallen Lord. The priest says that after the blow I was unconscious for a long time.

The Two Impostors (Saturday Afternoon Tales)

On the end of the year holidays I traveled to the United States to visit a friend. Before the trip I organized an itinerary because I needed to buy time.

Denígrame y Asociados (Saturday afternoon stories)

My heart palpitations accelerate and I feel a flock of ice beetles crashing against the walls of my stomach.

The photo of that sunset (Tales of Saturday afternoon)

It was August 23 the day you jumped into the water from that bridge.

The blue crab (Saturday afternoon stories)

We present a new entry for Tales of Saturday afternoon, with "The blue crab."

Crazy love in the land of sanity (Saturday afternoon stories)

We present a new entry for Tales of Saturday afternoon, with "Crazy love in the land of sanity."

More