As soon as I pulled the bike onto the dark little back street I saw her standing there, all skin and bones, long white legs and bare belly in her customary uniform of hot pants and skimpy, ragged cut off tank top and flip flops, slouching there glowing defiantly like a big white moth under the hanging HOTEL sign of the shabby ancient LOVE HOUSE Hotel. Standing there across from the little eatery, bathed in an otherworldly sepia glow, looking like the poster girl for the world’s oldest gig, like a teenage Jodi Foster in Taxi Driver.
 And I was Robert De Niro, standing there watching her like a cartoon wolf.
 ”Fuck these place, Cigano, let’s go! Go go!”
  I didn’t even ask. I assumed she’d just managed to get in a fight with somebody on the street in the five minutes she’d been waiting for me there. That’s Narcisa. Don’t ask.
 She jumped up on the bike behind me, dodging the greasy greetings that rained down on her from the drooling idiot empire of well known bums and losers in that hellish corner, her extended family of lost souls before I’d found her and dug her out of the ground like a precious rough gem.
  “Go go go, Cigano!” She breathed urgently into my ear, pinching my kidneys with her knobby Lolita knees, and off we went, off to the poetry reading…

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.