strange trip. I had never gone so long with a client, and the truth is that I have paid well, I'm not complaining at all, or at least, nothing more than what I always complain. My client sells machines very large and very sophisticated. No more specific ... Each sale is a process of flirtation and seduction of the customer, almost a wedding, you have to know first, flirting a little, eat out, talk at length, and then maybe get the commitment of the sale and after sale, maintenance of the machine, which is a constant pour. As a marriage. If you buy the machine, you marry the one you sold. My client is a presentation, videos, brochures, maps and prices, interviews with potential buyers, leading them to eat and about four or five, it stops working and that's where I start working. My job is to offer not only sex, that would be easier, give some meat until it is exhausted and close the snack bar him back. The sex part is just the top end of each day. First we have to go for a walk, see some dubious tourist attraction as a sad zoo with three lions and a baboon pajillero toothless, or visiting a grave of a former President of the Republic (I'm in a republic, is all that I say). Then we go to dinner and have drinks, it's not dinner, because coca is put down to his eyebrows and he closes the stomach, but drinking it does baby. Food, and I ask as my hand, he leaves his, but he ends up a bottle of wine. I have no need to talk, he's an unstoppable torrent of words, and of course dinner, only takes your mouth with words and words. Meanwhile, I chew slowly and make as if I had a great interest in everything I said. The type is quite repulsive, never understand why not hire the services of a local prostitute, which are cheaper and I confess, truly beautiful. For less money than I'm worth, could have a piece of meat much more attractive. But the guy on the one hand is quite xenophobic or racist or what not ... the fact is that only likes the English, on the other hand, the locals said that they fucked a English long to come out to make sex tourism, so he prefers to bring his whore of Spain.
The client, call it X, sleep deprivation. Fuck me, and then stays up late putting stripes and writing in a journal. In a way I thank you finish channeling his verbiage in written form, and not pour into my ears the whole flow of words cocaine and ideas that will loose. When it is empty speeches, it pokes a pill called Alcyon, which he said is as powerful as the orfidal, but unlike it, does not leave you groggy the next day ... As you sleep, X begins to snore as if he had swallowed a jackhammer, and certainly not let me sleep. He knows he snores (I guess he will tell his poor wife every morning), especially when it becomes cocaine, and offered me his sleeping pills, but I'd rather stay reading. As the guy falls asleep, I get out of bed, I sit on a couch in the room and I start reading a strange book that I bought, I do not know if humor or horror, that I recommend to everyone ( Vathek by William Beckford). I loathe sharing a bed with most of my clients, and it belongs to that majority. In the morning, my client calls me up and fellatio morning, convinced that with this small pleasure, is drawn from all the pain of a hangover. Then get into the shower, puts on his suit, he slaps the face with a vengeance, for blood and the color begin to flow down her cheeks, and goes about their business. That is when I start to sleep.
Towards the end of the trip, there was one day I woke up at about three, with a call from the receptionist to give me a message: X was late, not coming to dinner, and gave me the address of the restaurant. I was not sure what to do, because he had already eaten and decided Vathek the daily gossip X. I'm usually pretty respectful of the privacy of my clients and I dedicate it to spy on their belongings, but there are times when I've won a book I knew I did not value, or that I have spied on the drawers, not to take anything, but curiosity (though in reality very few clients that I provoke curiosity, for the most rapidly classify a category just to see them). Are small evils that I suddenly become inevitable. Well, the truth is that I took a great surprise to read the diary of X. The guy looked even noticeable. His texts gave me the feeling that I was faced with the wonderful ruins of an intelligence destroyed long ago, covered with weeds and lichen, with just one column on foot, as the remains of Roman temples that make us close our eyes to recostruirlos with imagination, and see in our imagination all the splendor that one day should have. The sentences were long, full of twists, lost without getting anywhere and without any idea clearly shore, but here and there, emerging in all this chatter daring images. Appeared in prose poetry of a madman ... I remember two images that I loved: "Labyrinth of absence" and "cemetery clouds ...
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