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



bite´s off


floran screamed in the middle of the night with a shriek and a raised feather. almost a minute as usual. the same scene, the same situation. breathed, sweated. the bedroom was breathtaking. he took his cigar and opened the window to let go a little summer night. the air felt a mixture of damp hay and wetness. it will take him a long time to sleep. he was thinking of the ever-repeating scene. on her eyes, a tense atmosphere, latex, chains, her laughter, and her teeth ... the idea was excited to him, even though he knew it was over. after a moment of rolling, he managed to fall asleep, although sleep was already shit. he took a shower in the morning and passed all the morning rituals of a man who had become definitively accustomed to solitude. never hurried. he went to work fundamentally last. he released the news on the channel two (it became a complete shit as usual). every morning he hoped something serious would happen, but it never happens. from the refrigerator he took yogurt (it was the last fuck, he would have to go to the shop among the stupids). monotonously, he chewed the yogurt with flakes and more or less waited until the bowl, left after his wife, left nothing. he had been totally hated by the breakfast he had been serving it for the past few years. but at least he assured him that he was doing something for his health in the way he lived. he used to go to work on foot. he hated people, and the underground metro did not do well in combination with the crowded tram. he even moved from one rabbit house to another because of it. the other one even had a balcony, where he sat in the evenings, listened to the silence, and he regularly drank red and remembered what had been before. he was not always like that. before he could even smile, he had a lot of friends, he liked to go out, and he believed in happiness and love ... he was definitely broken up by his divorce with melinda. she sent him to the water, of course, with his best friend, who always told him how uncomfortably they all fit together ... fuckning bastard ... he knows he could think of himself, too, and he often thought about it. it was nowhere. they tried to come back even a few times. linda (he was telling her) had come back to him for a while, but it was not ... they knew both of them ... floran brushed his teeth, switched off the crate and wore a white shirt with a clean, lined collar (after a couple of years it was possible) in front of the apartment he nodded to his neighbor, and he returned his greeting. he did not talk to anyone in the house. besides, nobody talked to anyone. on the way to work, he took the abop tunng and watched people over the black bead. that was the only way to survive that short stretch. in front of the entrance to a large glass building he took off his glasses, pulled out his headphones and took a deep breath. it's time. on 9, he called all the leading stuff and nicely arranged meeting rooms overlooking the city one by one, totally fucked them. he liked, as no one opposes him, and they all get off his sleeve because they are afraid of their warm spells. on the other hand, none of them even bothered. they played vabank. they knew nothing was imminent, and even if they knocked another big glass building next door. there were dozens of them. employees floran hated, and he knew he was acting like a bitch. but what? he was stolen. before lunch, when no one could more, he stopped it. the secretary gave him coffee (bitter and sweet enough). he had a taste of sliding her ass down, climbing her skirt, tearing her panties, hugging her tightly for her hair, telling her, she´s a fucking bitch, and spraying into her in a few seconds. instead, he thanked her and told her that he was taking off in the afternoon and that he would not even be on the cell phone. the plan was clear. the idea had paralyzed him for too long. basically he did not think of anything else. immediately after lunch (he gave a chicken broth and a medium-sized veal with a pile of vegetables) he bipped a business trip and went directly to the bar to the little lily. he sat down at the bar, where some of the people he noticed, and he ordered double vodka and a bottle of red for the start. the waiter recommended him cabernet sauvignon 2016 by intristic co. that vodka made him really good, and the sound of the sponge that he had taken from the bottle of his mood was even stronger. only then did he look around. the bar very cozy, a bit more expensive, but not very fancy. it was the most anonymous atmosphere. two thirty-to-forty old ladies seated in the corner (a man does not know much about it), drank a white spray and a coffee. it seemed they understand each other very well. at the bar to the left of the girl with a boy, they looked in love, and the boy was sitting in front of what looked like a floran. if he did not drink a small beer, he would think that he was looking at himself and that he was definitely fooled. the bartender did not speak much, which favored the floran. there was a fair amount of calm, but people started to sneak slowly with the coming dinner. floran ordered a tomato paste with a tortilla and another bottle. though to make a change, it remained the original brand. the wine was excellent. he still had plenty of time, so he took a quiet pace and enjoyed the time slowly. after eating, he orderd a coffee and peeked around. there was a guy named josh or something like that, but they did not move anywhere. classic hockey and football. when the outside darkened and the bar was cracked, the watches showed only half past eight. the bottle was empty again. it would be about half past eleven at the pace, but somehow he had to kill the time, so he ordered another one. in the third order, if i am not wrong. anyway, tomorrow a hangover will be a jerk. in the bar, where floran regularly spent fridays, people generally did not come from his work. just today, everyone had to show up, including the secretary. they probably went to celebrate how they were eating them today. they stood at the other end of the bar and did not notice him. and even if they do, fuck them! but a little bit of it made him nervous, it did. floran, for a moment dived, but as soon as he could see, a bartender came to him in a moment, and the bartende bring him a big shot and noone could even have to tell him from whom. from the other side of the bar his entire crew grinned at him. they were probably drinking already in work because they looked as fucking drunk as he was. he decides not to go with them as far as he can expect, but he just walks over to them and hears all the drunken bullshit, sneering, exhilaration, injustice, and similar shit. but surprisingly, they were all fine. the secretary was most surprised at how quick and immediate she was. actually, she did not know anything about her ... the mood was quite graduating, and the floran seemed to be normal after a long time. the round changed the round and the music grew louder. floran had cut the solo moonwalk before eleven o'clock, and woke up again with a shriek and stabbing feather in the middle of the night as usual. he had a mad drier and he did not understand where he was, because the window he usually opened there was not, and he did not even understand how it was still ... "come to me," sounds out of bed, "it is also a day today", she read his thoughts ...



the day before

they were lying side by side and deeply breathing. in the reflection of the lamps on the bedside table, their sweaty bodies were shining. ellen thought of andy and sean at sammy again. they both waited for the other one to say something but neither of them wanted to. but something must have happened. it was clear... the silence was unbearable... and they both were drown. they even apologized one another that none of them had ever said anything because they knew how hard it was. sean cleared his throat and then once again, and asked ellen how she was at work (nothing more stupid was in his mind. such an idiot am i, he thought). ellen smiled slightly (as typical) and said they should end it. "do you have anyone?" asked sean. "and you don´t?" (i am such a cow, she thouhgt). "i have, but i still love you all the time," said sean, observing the ceiling. he spoke sincerely and the the time passed slowly. "i can not imagine to be without you," said ellen. "do you remember the pine dam? how did you run away from your parents and all weekend was raining and electricity was gone?" "and it did not matter to us," laughed  ellen. "and our neighbor, who hid the box with whitehaven sauvignon blanc 2015 with us and we drank it all and poured by water into them ...?". "next week it will be exactly 15 years since you invited me to the sea-calf seaside for a date." "i was terribly nervous because you were so beautiful ...". "you had a yellow shirt with a pineapple ..". "and your hair were in a ponytail and had white earrings and smoke one after another ...". "it's gone ...“

they were both silent and thinking of what it was like "before" ... ellen took sean´s hand and told him to stay till the morning. telephones flashed them on the night tables as a live, but they ignored them. to ruin that moment was not worth it. they both knew it. none of them could fall asleep, but they did not mind.

when sean awoke in the morning, ellen wasn´t there anymore. she left him a message on the refrigerator to keep her keys as usual. after the breakfast, sean cleaned up before leaving, and straightened up the pillows on the bed, as ellen liked (as she had required „before“) ...

outside, the sun was shinning, and in the pocket, sean had a handy full of messages from sammy. he wondered what he would say... charlotte day wilson - after all



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