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“You got a cigarette for me?” Narcisa asked.
“Sure.” I handed her the pack and a lighter.
Jonathan popped his head out of the art supply store. “Everything cool?”
“Yep. Just hangin,” I said. As I listened to Narcisa finish her story about her days in Israeli rave existential gangbangs, I began to relax a little.
A soothing figure caught my eye, and I eased my way over to one of the canvases on display about 5 meters from where we were standing.
“Check this out,” I said to Narcisa. No answer. “Hey Narci–”
That’s when I heard it. A cat, shrieking like it was being dismembered by hyenas, a deafening squeal that echoed through the courtyard.
What. The fuck.
I turned around slowly and saw Narcisa standing guiltily over the water fountain as the cat continued to flounder and wail, hoisting itself out of the water and taking off to run through the halls like a banshee.
“WHAT!?! WHY!!!!!?” I said, first confused, then laughing.
Jonathan came out of the little store.
“What happened?”
I didn’t have to answer.
“She pushed that poor cat into the fountain! That’s what she did! Terrible!” declared an angry older woman who’d been enjoying her lunch prior to the incident, french fry in hand.
“It’s just a cat, man!” Narcisa yelled, not understanding the big deal.
“No, Narcisa. No. That was bad. You don’t do things like that,” Jonathan reminded her.
Narcisa became overwhelmed, and, pacing back and forth, began to apologize profusely for her existence.
The security guard walked over.
“That cat got water all over the hallways!” He said, pointing at the art school.
“I’M SORRRRY MANNNNN!” Narcisa blared with her arms out like Christ waiting for redemption.
“Focking sheet!” She huffed and puffed and paced.
“That cat has been severely abused and traumatized,” the old lady chimed in.
JS took over. “You know what lady? So has my girlfriend.”
The lady got quiet, as did the security guard, as did Narcisa and I, if not for my inaudible giggles.
“Well. Gosh, I’m so sorry,” said the woman.
“Yeah I’m sorry too,” said the security guard.
“No I’m sorry…” said Narcisa, hanging your head, flaunting her abuse and trauma for our captivated audience. “I’m just the very bad person”.
I laughed harder.
So we said goodbye to our new friends in the courtyard and walked back into the park, through the snail trail the wet cat had left, Narcisa laughing the whole way. “That stupid cat man. Now he never gonna leave his ass e’sposed again!”

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. 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.