It invades me a strange feeling of freedom, of unreality, even. Like a dream. The dream of my father: waking up in a train without knowing where you are or why you have got here. Not had occurred to me never, of course, but I must be equal to my father: dreamer, unconscious, unsatisfied would my father with life who had, with his work and his family be dissatisfied? I am Yes. Single at age 32, with a broken marriage and a job of Deputy Inspector of finance after having burned eyelashes making oppositions.
Often bargain of aunt! The train resumes its March. There is no turning back. Walk through the station as he could have done anything else. There is nothing special to do, truth be told. I look to either side and I decide to enter in the canteen. Now call them cafeterias, but for me they are a few bars as before, with the same coffee with milk bad than that Yes, now charged in euros rather than in pesetas.
A coffee I tell man that he attends the bar. How wants it? It gives equal answered, with a faint vagueness that draws the attention of the man. Do put you a little milk? but theirs is not a question, but an affirmation that formula while you are already preparing the cut. The bartender is serious and circumspect. Chunky, I say to myself, while I see their backs. Again, me looks from milestone to milestone while his face begins to manufacture a friendly smile that is half done. Interrupted. Cut by a knife. It continues to look me intensely, but now frowns, as if bring you some memories that will not just catch. His companion’s bar, a woman who was attending to another client, has become aware of the situation and observed restless man. Watch it and look at me me.