A bottle of rum

I see a couple of kids walking, they enter my visual screen, they pass from left to right and then disappear. In the opposite direction a lady crosses them, she seems well dressed. There is something ancient in the image, like an old photograph: a brass lady, a lady of other times. Everything takes this shade: color of the earth, color of stale blood, color of death, color of excrement. Somofagum!

«The new virus has hit the eastern part of the country, the president has announced new precautionary measures …»

The lady passes with a haughty look, regardless of the boys, curious that she doesn’t have a dog. There is a cat though. The cat sleeps on a low wall that stands out on the bottom behind all the figures. In an ideal world there would be the sun, because the cat seems to be lying down enjoying it.

«The Minister of Economy has launched an extraordinary measure to deal with the escalating economic crisis …»

Only bad news passes by the radio, who knows, they may be right. I can’t confirm or say otherwise. The crack from which I look is so small that I can’t understand what those boys or that lady will do in a minute, let alone if I can see what the world is doing. I’m nailed here, in this chair in front of this window with only that damned radio to keep me company. And it’s all brown.

«New femicide in the night, it’s about a young woman killed by her husband …»

Is it really possible that there is no good news? Is it possible that everything is this deadly color outside? Who put this fucking filter in front of the world?

O heck, wait a minute, since when is the bottle here? Who put it there? I must have done it before they nailed me to the chair. Yes, possible. I must have thought that if you really have to be stuck and just suffer, it’s better to have a good bottle of rum in front of you. But look, I must have also thought that rum gives this antiqued filter, which makes everything a little more magical and poetic, that perhaps in the ancient world there is the memory of the best.

Well, I was wrong and I’m sick of fucking seeing all in the color of shit. I’m nailed here and the spaces are tight, I can’t even move this bottle … but move it to put it where? After all it is always an excellent rum. Okay, I’ve made up my mind. If only the glass remains, I can see everything without a filter.

«The new wave of racism does not stop. Last night, a far-right group broke into a reception center, hitting immigrant guests with bars. All men wore balaclavas … »

Good this rum. At least this has always been granted to me: choose the best quality, directly from Jamaica. It would take a little ice, not to mention a slice of lime and a little sugar. Good times those of the daiquiri. But oh look … out there the shit seems to fade … the cat seems illuminated … wait the bottom is still earthy, I have to lower the level … hmm licking lips after the last sip is a sublime and erotic gesture together.

Wow is there really a bright sun outside? Is that one be the brass lady still? No, it must be a girl, what the hell, I can’t see well, the glass is blurred. Of course people are not well, they all seem staggering. The sun, then. The sun looks nice, but look there, it’s melting the wall and where will the cat go when the wall is completely broken? Cats are not stupid, they have a sixth sense, not like people, it will leave before it happens.

«It is estimated that by 2050 the damage of global warming will be irreversible …»

Well, if you look at the world outside, you feel sick. There is no possibility of something good, either you see it shitty or you see it without definition. There is no fucking healthy world out there. Luckily I can’t get up, I am much better here and what’s the need then to get up and go out there? To see what? Here I have everything I need and I’m much more confident.

«Three more endangered species: the giant panda, the snow leopard and …»

What good times when I went hunting. What do I go out to do, you can’t do that anymore and then there would certainly be no adventures like in the past. Now it’s all automatic, all fake, you don’t have the taste of real danger, you don’t test yourself as a man … Somofagum the rum is finished and I can’t get up, they nailed me. They nailed me.

– Ernest are you ready? It’s your turn, Ernest come on- I know this one here, he was among those who brought me here.

– Ernest come on, it’s time for your speech. What the fuck, did you drink the whole bottle? I had to bring only a glass damn … how will you look now in front of these people? … get up!

Oh come on, how will I look! Get me out of this chair and everyone will see the great Hemingway. I was there when the sun was real in the world, when adventure was life. Hemingway saw the world. I’ll tell you the world! It’s just that these nails, these nails I just can’t seem to take them off.