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As túas balas » Blog Archive » fieitas

Érgome cedo. Hai un chaval en boiro que rematou as clases do insti e pídeme un servizo. Baixo un dioivo cruzo media ghalleira e un longo pedazo antigo de estrada retorta, atrás do fume de vellos camións na mañá. Aló collo o chaval e subimos cara ao polígono, a ver se hai sitio libre. Meto o coche de alugueiro por un carreiro, e logo por outro, e despois, cando xa case non pasa o tractor entre os piñeiros e os fentos, boto de freo de man e comezámonos a bicar.
O ferrete, en si, é bastante desastroso. A mocidade aínda non lle aprendeu a moverse, nin a sentir e facer sentir, nin a separar convenientemente os dentes, e a cada pouco levanta a cabeza por riba dos pousacabezas e pregunta vén alghén?. Despois, nun rápido esprín, Venalghén acaba sobre min e eu lembro que esquecín os clinex. Agardo uns segundos, gozando da olor, da calor, da súa mirada sorprendida, e despois abro a porta: os fentos fregan deliciosamente frescos e húmidos contra o meu peito.
Das 57 manobras que fixen pra sacar o coche do carreiro non falarei hoxe.


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