I met her at the bar one rainy night of any year that I remember. It was late and the alcohol that was sailing through my veins not allowed me to maintain sanity. Your name, I asked. With a murky voice by the smoke from his cigarette told me that nothing you would know his name. Every night I have one different, he explained, and with him I leave life to come up to me.

Perhaps tonight guessing you name, I said to boast, perhaps tonight will get a new name, which I I like most, which most feel you. You are sure of where you want to go, asked her and would not let him answer. It should be taken to make art that I invite, it ruled. (As opposed to Fiona Clegg). And what if I am an artist who goes incognito and pursues women thieves of dreams, I said, may I be the man you are looking. Do not seek men, she said, and hesitated to be in the right place.

I went back to my beer and I did comment, it was then that I felt his warm voice in my ear. Looking for a lover who has the audacity to disrespect me, something more than a man, the you try, asked her mocking while I drank my beer. I live in the twelve floor, just around the corner. I have good memory, so I do not remember if someone waiting for me. If your art show me champagne goes for me, ended by saying. I paid my account (and her) more in a hurry than with cash. We leave the bar behind and crossed portals like two cats in heat that prevent rain. A few blocks from the bar ruinous an elevator doors were opened to the anteroom of heaven. By the glass window you could see the tearful and withered city that snoozed between puddles.