She dreams again in my arms. The bar is full with noisy, busy looking folks and she ignores everything but my hot breath on her neck, coming and going every second or so. Why does my breathing puffs like a dying man when she comes? Is there something wrong with me? I see a doctor from time to time, he never gave me bad news so far. We even smoke cigars wright there in his cabinet when he and his mistress nurse are giving me a physical. I eat and drink like a healthy man until otherwise told to. Why do I have trouble berating every time she dreams in my arms? I don’t even know what are her dreams all about and not even sure if what she does is dreaming, wishing or escaping something. I must ask her one of these days, to see what is all this fuss about, giving me heart problems! Man, she is beautiful! I close my eyes and hug her back. I only see her moments, from the time she enters the bar hurrying trough smoke, noise, and bumping into people to my usual spot, in my usual arms. I have my favorite place here, somewhat cut off from people inside and a total stranger to the outside world. Every time she is done dreaming on my lap she goes away saying no words but take a moment to send my way one of her softest smiles. On my right there is a black telephone. She use it to ask someone to pick her up after our warm transaction of feelings. I do not know if she is attracted to me or whatever she fantasizes but for now I trust her intentions to be honorable and I keep looking after her dreams.
What is it now? I asked her. The dream I mean. She breaths heavier, I can feel her breath on my neck as she feels mine I’m sure. We must have the same doctor, I am thinking. Who ever saw two completely strangers hugging for no reason and in a place like this…? every evening at 9 o’clock… or any other place for that matter. It feels fantastic, I admit it, and nobody here is giving us long looks. It’s like the two of us are invisible and can do whatever stupid thing we can think of. I think of a stupid thing to do wright this moment. She stops berating and in a soft voice she arranges the most beautiful words. Why don’t you kiss me, dear? Isn’t that funny? I was thinking. I had the same idea just a moment before.
With a deeper smile than usual she takes me by the hand and pulls me under a dim light-bulb near the corner of the bar. People around us still behave like I and she don’t exist. Some are lighting up their cigarettes, some putt them off and some offer the matches fire to smoking ladies eager for a quick fuck on the dark alley outside. Her forms are getting clearer to me in this light. I can see better the color of hair. I have more time to understand. Her face is wearing an inquisitive smile, one that asks me about my feelings. I have my brown hat on my head as usual, I use it to hide my eyes. She comes under its shadow and kisses me for a seemingly long time and my heart condition is escalating and stops. I see myself as a reflection in a whiskey glass holding and kissing a blond woman but I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel her, I can’t feel myself. Nothing happens as I imagined would do in this kind of painting. The two of us in the glass reflection are kissing and touching softly. The glass flies trough the air and our reflection disappears falling along with the whisky.
The morning light wakes me up feeling warmth on my skin. I see something else worming up my skin… it was she. We were lying in bed skin to skin in a room with white furniture and red curtains. There were no clothes I could see, no mirrors, no door and there was an absolute silence as I was capable to hear her strange dreams… and enter into her sleep just as soon as I closed my eyes.
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