I slept with Kurt Cobain. He was the first to see me naked. The first to see me masturbated. The first I tried to kiss. I had a poster over Brewicz's head, and I imagined that the hand in the pants was his.
From floor to ceiling the room was full of posters. It was at a time when everyone was on a black background and so it was dark and crazy. I never shone. I hated a great light and I still do not know the artificial light. I can only handle small lamps, dim lights and night flashes of the monitor.
I had books under the bed and in the closet. They looked good under the bed, as if they were a fortress for their hard dreams. I had mostly encyclopedias and literature that I downloaded at special moments. When I get a taste for information about plants stems, layers of earth or quantum physics. Cabinet was fiction. On the lower shelf Europe. Especially Russians. Heavy books. Heavy stories. On the middle shelf is a theatrical literature. Comedy and Drama. Games that were always somewhere between. Above all, there was popular American literature. Eccentric. Easy. So, what's wrong with the series, you have to admit it's good. I had psychology in my socks. Exception hidden. He's worried about hammers. Intimate diagnosis. And there were piles of medical books in the coat. The corpse hung in the air.
I sat on the windowsill and read the infidels. Outside my house, my brother played soccer with the boys on the street, and every time the ball came into the fence, the forgery grew. And I did. I do not feel the noise. Noise is a brake of ideas. cry. Aber. Beeps. Shout out. I do not like it. Being aware of noise is the most desirable way to force it.
"Albert has a hysterical personality disorder," I said after I came to the kitchen. The mother lifted the sheets from the oven in the temple and moved it inside.
"Stop diagnosing your brother," she said.
"Why?" I knocked on the rough path.
"Because you have eleven." She took the dough out of her hand. "And do not eat raw dough!"
"Why?" I took another.
"Because your donuts grow in your stomach!" She took her again.
"Donuts grow in your nose when you blow cocaine with boiling powder," I waved.
"What?" She stopped and looked at me grimly.
"Have not you seen a scary movie?" I sat at the table and opened the book.
"Why are you VIDELA scary movie?"
"Did you knit the porn channel?"
,, not to kill. You will not kill. You will not kill, "Mother repeated on command, then prepared a beautiful, round bun from the smooth, sour path.
I preferred my night. Everyone was asleep and I could read silently on the railing. No one kicked the ball into the fence. No one came out and wept: "Play!" One copy of the history of medicine was a flashlight. I read only the professional books in it. I thought that if I smelled more of them, I would rather remember everything.
I sat on the railing of the headrest and read Macis's pathology. I think sometimes I learned how to get under the skin at the same time. I was just trying to analyze epithelial cells when I started to feel like someone was looking at me. I slowly turned my head and behind a child. He had a head covering on his head, a bullet under his arm, and he smiled.
"Ah!" I shivered and fell from the windowsill.
I heard laughter behind the window. When I got up I was not there anymore.
I went to bed and the reflection of the street lamp illuminated Kurt's head.
I put my hands in my pants and thought about how she kissed me. And how do you play where you slept at night? Then I beat him up with rape me and he will win him with lithium. I was almost on top when I started hitting the ball on the asphalt. I quickly pulled my hand out of the dirty girl and turned. A boy in a sweatshirt stood in the street and ran. At first he just smiled, then began to laugh heroically and left. Dilling sounded to the end of the street.
"Someone's looking for you," she said to me in the morning, playing in the Negev with her hand.
"You look like Poppins married, do you know about that?" I narrowed my eyes and really did.
"Who?" She frowned.
"Who is looking for me?"
"Stand out, look," she pointed to the window I was sitting on. I turned my head and the basketball boy stood in front of our doors.
I slid over the windowsill and lay down.
"Let me go right away!" I whispered to my mother.
"Oh, why?" She whispered, too.
"I do not want to talk to him or I do not know him," I whispered nervously.
"Play football with your brother, you'll know him!"
"He does not play football, he has basketball, and why are you whispering?" I turned my forehead.
"I do not know, you started!" "Well, tell him you do not want to see him, I've got lunch on the stove!" She smiled triumphantly, threw her shoulder on her shoulder and left.
In the alley of shame on the corridor I walked slowly. I opened the door of the big vault and the basketball boy stood there, grimacing.
"Hey," I said quietly.
"Hello," he leaned back on our hair.
"If you're looking for Alberta, it's not home," it was a strange icebreaker, but I was eleven years old!
"I'm looking for you, do not you want to go out, Inner Girl?" He smiled.
"Inner girl?" I pinched my eyebrows.
"Still inside, I see you every day, are you ill?"
"I'm perfectly healthy!"
"Why are not you coming out?"
"I'm going out … I'm going … I'm going to school!" My defense was weak.
"Do not go?" He threw me a ball and I was angry.
"why did you do this?"
"I was hoping you'd catch her," laughed Ali.
I took the ball and held it on the fence.
"I'm Philip," he said into my palm.
"Irma," I narrowed my eyes and gave him a hand.
"Irma?" He chuckled.
"It's a dumb name, I know," I turned and went inside.
"Come on, play a little girl!"
"No thanks, hey," I waved to him, and closed the door.
I moved away from my parents when I was eighteen. More precisely, eighteen and three days. I study, work, enjoy my life in a big city full of strangers that I've stolen. I can do what I want and where I want, no one cares. No one taught me. He did not tell me what I had and what I did was not normal.
I visited visits only once a year. Sometimes a year. For the weekend. I lay on my old bed and all those hobbies and stared at the wall. The poster "Cubeina" was choked and smelled a little for years. It's probably a deinterleaver I used to use. I thought of all the amazing things I had experienced in that room. All the stories I added. The words of songs that put me into a miserable depression. I took Freud and the blanket and went outside. Under the old Adar I made a nest and sucked the silence of the village. The absolute silence of the valley, where people do not really care.
"I can not believe you're out," a young man sat down and smiled. He had basketball and a cigarette in his hand.
"Hmm?" I knocked on him with long bumps.
"Inner girl, it's me, Phillip," he said, as if we wanted to know.
"Sorry, but …" I shook my head.
You have to remember me, I'm nice, and I saw you masturbating, "he laughed, throwing the ball into his finger.
"Are you still inside?" He pointed to the book.
"do we know each other?"
"You were sitting in that window, you read your books and do not go out, I thought you had some disease that people can not get into the air, you were still inside, so I called you an inner girl, I used to come to you if you meant to play but I did not want to, "spell.
"Oh God, I felt the rust spreading.
"You remembered!" He laughed.
"I …" I got up and ran off my ass.
"No, you already know inside," Freud said. "Come out a little," he held the book high so I could not wait for him.
You can understand why the face is also important, "I growled and went home.
He was nice. So high. poor. Has been corrupted. Like Cobain, he only had a ball instead of a guitar. I never understood the obsession of people with the outside world. Everyone's talking, is not it? "You have to go out" and so on. If it was so great out there, we would not kill hundreds of years by dodging the interior!
The older I was, the less I had to go home. My parents followed me when I missed them, and Albert lived only a few blocks from me and stopped every time he finished eating.
"Are there any elections, will you?" My mother asked, and I heard something more white on the phone.
"Mom, I …"
"Do not tell me you do not mind, your father is standing!"
"Dad wants to be mayor?"
"There's nothing funny about it, he did a lot for the community," said the first lady, proud.
"Okay, Mom, I'm coming," I sighed.
"Do not let me in here like your brother!"
"Well, let's go," I said.
"Irma, come on," she sighed, for a change, she.
I almost fell on the horn in this stupid letter!
On Friday night I came to our house. My brother in my car tuned the radio all the way and taught to pack the joints on the G & A article.
"Language and Culture – The Internet Magazine of the Linguistic-Politurist Center and Translation- For God's sake, what do you have for the literature of the Lord?" He laughed at me.
"You do not know whether to go on the filter, but you're worried about me," I narrowed my eyes and the steering wheel.
We spent four in the evening. Me, Mother, Albert. His father was silent, turned around the house, and his head repeated his words, yielding the positive results of the local elections. The mother had given her inappropriate questions, and he had replied wrongly.
I got up and went into my old boy's room. I do not know if the thirties are still "childish." The walls were painted white, and adult mattresses lay on the big double bed. Behind the window, Phillip walked with the telephone in his hand, gesturing hard.
"Do you have basketball?" I ran to Albert's room.
– What? "
After balls ,,! Do you? "
"In the garage," he whispered.
I picked up the paper from the table, scattered it in Ganga and rolled back on my guard.
"Amateur," I grumbled, and placed the joint behind my ear.
I walked outside the gate and waited until she noticed me.
"I'll call you later," he said on the phone and put it in his pocket. "Inner girl!" He smiled.
"Lupus or drugs?" I smiled, too. With one hand I held a basketball and the other wrapped one.
He sat down under the old Adar and patted the ground beside him. I sat down and put the ball in his hand.
"I do not know what he's doing, take it," I said, turning on the Joint.
He played with the ball as a neurotic and did her exercises.
"Have you come to the elections?" He asked with a smile.
"Hey," I nodded.
"Daddy's standing," he said.
"Hey," I nodded again, continuing.
"You still miss me today?" He smiled and leaned against the tree.
"No, I'm great, do you want to see me masturbating?"
He is dragged and coughing.
"Oh, darling, what am I supposed to say?" He said between the breaths.
"I'm an inner girl," I said, shrugging, and he laughed.
We sat in front of my parents' house as long as the lamps began to light up. We sat there long after we called for the evening party. We also sat with shots when the old Misko from the main goals went to the coach.
Slowly, we loved each other. Sunken and almost naked in the street under the old tree on my parents' grass.
"It's not bad at all," I said with one hand on his back and the other we lay on.
"It's a lot better," he smiled, and hurried towards the glutes plicae vocales.