product of pleasure

 

hans comes at the beach every morning at nine. his story is plain and simple. his wife stopped having fun with him for years and left him fortunately at the time when their children were older. for a while he tried to go on a dates and various randez-vous, but it was not too. he always met someone who just wanted to fuck over with him. after some time he stopped looking for anyone. he got used to stay alone and he was very well. hans is always wearing a mercedes-benz advertising cup (copper never owned) and a large black bag in hand. he always sits in the same place on the edge of the beach. beachboy does not care. hans is pretty dull, it could be said uninterested. on the scale of sympathy he gained number two (one is the least, ten is the top). take off his shirt and light a cigarette, smoke more than enough, but he does not care. the future does not interest him. and observes the horizon and the beginning of the cricket on the beach, which begins to wake up slowly. at ten o´clock he opens the first beer and the cigar beeps in the sand (he hates it on the others). he knocks the cigar next to each other. their heads are licked, and when one narrows his eyes, he thinks of sculptures on easter island, with a little imagination. his bag consists a snorkel with fins, a book and the pack of cold beers. always before the holiday, where he has long failed to remember the strange, chooses a sad piece (book)  that he never really begins to read, it is a shame to destroy the time at the seaside some gloom, the relationship of summaries, which in most cases it will go wrong anyway, or how it can never happen in real life, but it creates a sense of vacation. during this brief contemplation, the beach was relatively full even during this late summer, which was a clear sign for nafiz  and other beach vendors to go on their all-day, aimless walks from one end of the beach to the other one and offer all those shrimps that are sold him by the bastard in the city that stretches on the back and which no one wants. the seventh year says himself to leave this desperate effort ... but the money needs ... even the little that he earns ... till the noon the temperature is quite solid, the people are still not nervous and behave "normally", that is, sometimes he or she listens to his scholarly fluency (haha) in four languages ​​(some traveling here from germany, england, russia and the mixture from the east), sometimes petting him someone sit closer for a while or give him something to drink or eat. this is exactly his chance ... he knows it and knows it all the other retailers who offer their own and same goods ... at noon it is usually worths shit ... it´s terrific heat and the pauses he gives are becoming more common and longer and he is already desperate ... people are sleeping better or playing thein sleeping after lunch, drinking cold drinks, looking through their original ray ban they can not see or read books whose names and drawings nafiz do not understand ... in the evening the situatio  improves again. it is a pleasent breeze, he swells slightly and the water seems a bit cooler ... at six o´clock nafiz seats in the shadow of the palm tree and recapitulates today's catch. he did not have his day. he sold only two beads, five euros in total. looks around for a while and looks for a horizon ... somewhere ... nafiz  looking forvard to see his children, it will be like in half a year ... a great luxury yacht was slowly passing by, where music is loud and where the young and beautiful people have a great fun. it looks like the beginning of a great party... hans too, he swamped the last bottle and decided to go to the hotel. before the shower he will blow off his dick and then he'll break into the hotel restaurant (cooking here is really great). before going to bed he will have a few more glasses of duckhorn merlot by three palms vineyard... in front of him is still a whole week ... scale it back - dj shadow

 

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