Yesterday he was dressed in a suit, with his best clothes, combed back. Lick the cow. Not today, today the story ends, but he comes back with a few envelopes in his suitcase. Several kilometers behind them, two or three zones of … service during which he stopped to refuel. He is no one and he is everyone at the same time. He orders a skewer of tortillas, drinks a black coffee. He congratulates the waitress on Christmas, she adds good wishes for the New Year. Pay cash to tip them. Boat. There are knives on a shelf, several older men at the bar, recycled decorations from other Decembers, truckers entering the restroom with their backpacks.
La Niña Pastori plays several times in just twenty minutes. A guy opens his fanny pack in front of the slot machine and comments out loud, as if to justify himself to his reflection in front of the machine, that the price is close to a piece of candy. I hope luck smiles on you. Nothing, the damn thing sucked. And here’s Boy’s Play, released as if the whole store was listening to it before going to smoke. I wish I was sure he was joking.
Back in the car, he puts his finger on his tongue and tries with a little saliva to remove a small scratch next to the lion’s face. He still has a way to go. On the road, he listens to music and starts thinking about his business. He remembers the speech he gave last night, a nostalgia comes over him that goes perfectly with the song coming from the radio. He misses freedom. He thinks that a few years ago, he was drinking in the street, with the children, chasing a girl and promising her an endless winter. And now here, with the chains of the future, carrying envelopes on the cart that will not leave his mind, that are the only thing he has left and that excites him for this journey. In short, it is the law of life. Of this life you have chosen. This is how victory is built.
We have to screw everything, a Civil Guard checkpoint is looming on the horizon. Watch the speed, slow down. He prays for what he knows that they won’t stop him. He rolls down the window and an officer looks out the window for a moment. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. The look is quick. Circulate. Thank you very much, good service. He blows and continues on his way. I didn’t want to, but in the end it will be night on the road. Enjoy the sunset and take a stroll again in treacherous but joyful nostalgia. He concludes that it’s nice to have something to look back on. Once in the area, he must make several turns before parking the Peugeot.
In his 40 square meter cabin without electricity he begins to unpack his luggage, leaves everything organized and prepared in the room and takes out the envelopes. He takes them to the kitchen. Let one cool and put the others in the refrigerator. He is happy, tomorrow when he gets up to work, he will make ham toast and remember his mother.
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