For "small Rania" she does not know how or when, just why. Or maybe not even that.
Outside the bar a gray-haired man, who I later learned was the boss, he shaved with his left hand holding a circular mirror. Inside, Perico left the conversation and rushed to greet me. Hey teacher, was the person who brings the lyrics of the song!, He shouted to his band mates, who seemed to play with musical instruments installed in a small corner of the room. There is some drama in this type of mid-afternoon bars makes them look like a game room sort of poor asylum, the light illuminates with cruelty damage then simulated by the arrival of each night and pass this year cheating year: the dingy floor fat immemorial, scorched walls, the essence of potty exacerbated by the heat does not invade the area deprived of social or mixed with rancid smell of stale beer spilled in short, a very conducive atmosphere to share with friends. A brunette woman and features thick rough and arms and legs, quietly wiping the counter. Soon the other fellow
Perico approached. It's good that you bring the letter, said affable as a general comment, shortly before turning his attention to the "small Rania", which, given their lack of complaints, it seemed very entertained by the place and the musicians who spoke so soon with great familiarity. I could not find the time to tell the truth. He had practiced several possible answers, some of which I rejected for lack of originality. Example: the song ended so sad that I could not start it;
et al.
Driven by Perico and encouraged by the beers served us brunette arms like pillars, we expanded into the conversation and trust. Every time I felt less able to raise their hand, ask your attention please, and confess the truth. The "small Rania" had settled into a corner of the bar, with a sort of knit hat reminiscent of the Andes, which was supposed to very modern, seemed very entertaining conversation, it felt relaxed and smiling, "perhaps now had more confidence in the nanny came in the evening to his house to care for her two children or the Showtracks of her husband, perhaps a little less apprehensive now, as it were, looked up smiling talking with musicians and friends of Perico brunette woman every night pretending to clean the site.
The musician in charge of the keyboards, who, by formal or sober, seemed to have the band's manager, told me seriously, that was less direct and affable-You have a melody in mind for the letter "I asked a way that did not leave me much chance to slip away. Well
a rhythm typical gringo rock of "American", drums, bass and guitar well to the Dave Matthews band, just a little "blusy."
-Ahh Of course, I understand where you're going.
From the corner of the bar, the "small Rania" I called with a wave of his hand, thus saving me unknowingly.
-Permit friend - in full exhaust gets to tell the keyboard.
She had red cheeks, the strange modern beret or cap modified Andean textiles framed her almost frangible fractions of swarthy face, stared at me, somewhere I had seen that expression. I said a couple of inconsistencies that do not understand but that would be fun because of the laughter that followed. Your peace of mind was not altered even by the constant hum coming from the vibration coming into your call mobile phone. The sound of the band made it impossible to continue the conversation. Out a rhythm typical American, a blend of Tom Petty, with Springsteen, with some of the more energetic Dylan, the members-all but Perico was talking to the boss of the place with his shaven face, suddenly focused and tidy, played as eager to bounce località walls.
"To see the poet, who begins," he called. The "small Rania" strong squeezes my hand and smiles, smiles make me nervous, so many now, is that a woman's smiles are always a risk. I put in front of the band, rear bag bag derecha un papel, ajusto la altura de la base del micrófono:
Very good, very good poet, now give us the original song that Perico promised - always told serious tecladista.Yo pretending that everything was planned and that the attempt to introduce a song by Etheridge as its own was just a joke, without hesitation I took another role for left back pocket. It was one of the last poems Hubert Robertson had sent me. The musicians began again with the music. Yes, very Dave Matthews Band, very "Americana", with hints of Petty, Springsteen, a little blusy. Without further remedy start singing the lyrics as their own.
