How Jock Lock My Self

His whole face is a dam. Strained every muscle. Lips tremble. His eyes are open to see where you are, sitting alone in a little bar at four in the morning to see that this is not a good place to mourn.
deflowers a tear to your face. His touch is uncertain, with self-doubt a first-time lover. But the innocence is soon removed by a quick hand and cold, a hand that understands that he must remove all traces of the tear to avoid encouraging others.
The woman is silent. Take a sip of his coffee. Lose your gaze in the window. Around him couples kiss and caress and yawn. A man trace small circles on the table with his finger. He spends his tongue between his teeth popping up against his palate. "Poor .- says.
- Who? - Meets his girlfriend.
He looks up to point to the woman with the head.
Your partner turns sitting. The studies from top to bottom with his eyes. Turns to her boyfriend. "Poor .- repeated.
-Me da cosita. Whenever I see a woman given little thing he says .- mourn. Now draw circles with your fingernails, spreading his fingers at the end of each. Looks down. Stops hand. "I just want to hug her.
"And I feel like going.
"Do not be silly. "We're not pigeon
with broken wing can soar only to be in the hands of a man.
He looks up. - Where does that leave?
She shrugs and looks away.
"Not that he insists .-" Just do not know, I'm tenderness.
"Yes, tenderness. Just that is what gives you.
He passed a hand across his face. - What do you mean? - Grumbles, with that mixture of hatred and who need to hear what is needed.
"Nothing.
"Nothing. That's right. It gives me tenderness. Poor, there, alone, at four o'clock. A point to mourn.
The woman takes a sip of soda. "Leave it there.
He sighs.
She raises her eyebrows and the least action is a caravan of reproach. Want to scream it's four in the morning, she wants to be the protagonist, that what he's looking at others, that more time should have been dancing instead of going to wait in a little bar next to a YPF. "Leave it there .- says simply.
He draws circles on the table with his finger. It sounds like the neck. In this action lies a protest parade. Want to retort that it's stupid to compete with that woman, that there are more appropriate ways to respond, and even more so at this time of night where hatred of fatigue there is only one step. "I leave it there .- repeated.
Nobody even mutters a word. He draws circles on the table with his finger. She takes a sip of soda. The woman, a mixer, cut off his second tear. The three remain suspended in their own silences.