If anything characterizes this company in its tangible matter, it is its walls littered with abstract paintings. All very similar: at first I thought they were pieces of skin or meat that ranged from pinkish to deep red, like pieces of naked bodies entangling, making love or sometimes mutilating themselves. And they don't have a signature. How strange.I read on some internet sites that many paintings do not explicitly carry a signature on the end of the painting, but that they do it in another way. Some artists do it by painting their face somewhere that people appear, others do it with their initials through a technician that only allows to capture the signature with X-rays.I have no idea if the signature of the artist in question is "signature" of the range of similar colors. Or would that be his "style"? The point is that so far I have been thinking about it because as Mr Hamilton finishes his meeting with Mr Mendes, he is on his way to lunch. Vania and I receive our rations in

I remember two moments of extreme happiness in my life. Or three. The first is in my childhood, I can not say that I had an excellent pass, on the contrary, it was marked by shortcomings. But every night dad would arm chairs with an old sheet, and we would get under it with mom while we played. That was a spaceship, and he was the commander in charge while I was his apprentice, following the right orders to achieve "excellence". He said to me, "all right, agent Western, You will be a great successor to this Captain."To which mom congratulated me and told me that she was proud of me. I felt very happy, it was as if I had a very important achievement. But mom also took her place to help in the game and did not understand why she did not want to be captained someday. "No, honey, I am well following the orders of those who know," she replied, which charged me with indignation. These games made it clear to me that, one can choose to be the one who directs or to be the one directed, but on

As soon as alcohol comes into contact with my mouth, I know I'm not quite ready for this.The Disco with music from the eighties that George threw as an excuse, quickly becomes a reason to go out to Google Maps for information about it. We had to swap phones to keep in touch and hold the same lie for the sake of the three of us. While I'm not part of the couple of friends, I get involved soon. The Madrid disco is called "Blue Ocean" and is a pass. Far are my chances of hitting my unreachable wishes every weekend so my night culture is not very frequent, besides that I also do not like this much of going out to dance. However, there are details of the place that make it interesting, it is not of high society, of those lobbies to which black Hamilton and Emmett Mendes usually go, but that this seems rather an under, Urban bar, with first floor where the crazy party is and a subsoil with sets of armchairs to come to flirt without the noise from above. I haven't come to flirt, but I've

"Think about it," Emmett tells me, " for tonight, you can think about it.""I think that one is a pass." I let out a laugh. He starts the car. I think that my state of crying to laughter has become a little alarming, and I reiterate that it is not by going drunk since I would need more alcohol for that, with two drinks I can not miss the session, although I do dis inhibit a little the bronzes that I have been enduring for some time. "Well, where's the grace?" He tells me with one hand on the steering wheel and the other with his elbow resting on the glass lowered from the window while driving.I turn to him and get a thousand whores to see his wide arm marking through the turquoise fabric of his shirt that looks amazing. The first buttons of the neck are detached to the middle of their protruding pectorals. It is the first time in the night that I take the dare to look at him in this way since before I could only pay attention to how cute Black had come with a white shirt. Which of

The delicious perfume of Paco Rabanne enters through my nose, taking me out of the dream in which I am melted.Suddenly dad disappears, the school disappears, my old classmates and teachers are gone. But there is still something and it is me, although not in the same way. I've changed. I'm sure of it even before I open my eyes and feel a contracture in my chest.I bring my hands to this site as I try to open my eyes, remembering that the belt clung to my collarbone and the airbag stopped me before passing long through the front glass of the car rented by Emmett Mendes. However, it is a hand over my left cheek that convinces me that it is time to open my eyes. Because, I know whose it is. "Hey."Black's voice reaches me and gets stuck in my heart. I open my eyes and do not distinguish at all where lightning I am now. I blink several times in search of waking up or distinguishing whether it will be another dream. It's not.I'm on a huge bed, in a room lit by a nightstand on a bedside