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As túas balas » Blog Archive

samaranch
A xornada de onte marcaba o comezo oficial deste choio. Asi que en boa hora subimos pola fresca ao outeiro Pnyx, enfeitados coas chaquetas de todas as vodas de aqui ao belice (ben, o de belice non; non lle cadraba a chaqueta coas rastas). Arriba agardaban por nos o ministro de cultura (anxela, estranhamoste), o alcalde de atenas e joan antoni samaranch, un vellinho xordo que nun tempo foi franquista en barcelona e agora xa sempre vellinho carinhoso e amabel que aguanta paciente as fotos dos douscentos. Arrecende a oliveiras, e baixamos cara a un clube sobre o exeo. Ali xantamos cos nosos traxes de gala viandas gregas de gala, bebemos o vinho que nos cadra, compartimos chistes de galegos con iberoamerica, e bailamos shakira, madonna e moito moito moito regueton.
Hoxe, ao erguerme, atopo que o deus do estadio que durmia no meu cuarto ateniense tivera sexo no banho durante as minhas horas de sono. Nunca ata o de agora me cruzara cun king size. Agora sei que existen.


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