was only a flesh and blood girl, you got coke up her pussy and knew the most important thing to know a girl so addicted to hell: being a rich man to another lover, and is a son of a bitch that sent home with a bruise, a red line on the buttock, low self esteem, etc.
I was a sober guy most of the time, smoked cigarettes imported from Cuba, bet on dominoes.
I did for painting, and painted more than a dozen times. Everything was in chaos, and to date still is. The Pretty Things sounded in the background on a turntable Phillips. Isabel came home a little early. High heels, of those who raised these hardwood butt, a plume of peacock feathers, a yellow dress and green lipstick I had bought. He threw me a soft kiss and Gino eye. I also winked open and just saw my picture. It was my painting. Even I felt the presence of Elizabeth in the doorway a few seconds. Then I heard the door close. I could only see my painting, my hands muddy and continued painting.
finished.
Isabel returned a couple of hours later. Some bastard had crossed his face with his fist. Some crap got into my left eye, and this, spilled some liquid on my cheek, slipped and went into my mouth by the left corner. I tasted was bitter and did not like at all. I got up and open up to Isabel. At that time, that was my self portrait: a painting. Paint mismatch.
That night, no ... we fucked until dawn .
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