Nils Petter Molvær
Er

Enhancement of the relationship between you and the eyes of those who try to listen to your stammering. No anxiety, leave the desire to run and bite to the dogs in the street.

An aperitif, yes, but with whoever you choose. Not light, yet ethereal. Lounge bar is the wrong word even though you're riding trumpets strangely influenced by Davis. There is something cold, electro, sometimes dub. Many and reinterpreted influences of Eno. Warm enough to be a luxury car circling the desert of S. Siro between too high sidewalks and traffic wardens with gloves and a sadomasochistic whip. Cold if you want to lay it on an ebony-colored counter with the glimmers of white beer taps.

A decor, perfect intersection of liberty, avant-garde, vintage, and the lounge of the Enterprise. Round face, bright brown hair, bangs almost covering the field of vision, full lips, rather large incisors, dull blue eyes, a pulsating bass. Crossed legs, dark clothes tell tone-on-tone to go to hell, wearing your black shirt, on black suit, on black shoes, on red eyes, burst capillaries, bleeding. Few bubbles, bright red color, swirling around a deformed wooden stick. Heartbeats almost frenzied, sometimes intercostal pains. The past two hours flash before your eyes, the square of dirty stones, falling leaves, between straw yellow and red fire, gusts of wind an annoyance from twenty years ago. You think the tears are caused by these, revive with the superpuncher the jerk who cried when as a child the teacher would never let him touch it, what a jerk. You have a fear that to define as unhealthy is an understatement.

Is it coming?

It is coming. Hypercomposed Amazon, untouched, unique excess, being too cool, no alcohol but free drink for her, the sidewalks stop spitting at each other and watch, you feel smug, revel, look at them and explode in the pyrotechnic satisfaction that only a bomber ties to his face. Everyone look, five minutes of glory are enough and then she could vanish. People lower their gaze without doing it physically. You shoot everyone. They die to resurrect the next morning with a monkey by their side. There are two hours, the words appear slowly but you don't worry, from here on it's all downhill, it could explode inside the bar, you wouldn't notice. Send her colorful ivory curses because you've heard that her ex always carried them, a pathetic ill-mannered lout. Only after too long a stretch do you realize that she doesn't give a damn about your silence. At 4 you're alone. You can choose to talk to a sidewalk or lie down after a healthy dose of taurine. But you see a guy, wrecked on one side of the street, you approach and confront him.

"Hey you, are you gay?"

The man turns and stammering "of course not, what are you babbling about?"

"No, because maybe you could give me a blowjob, oh well, goodnight."

"This is a tribute to that gay G_à and all the dwarfish cheeky staff, I promised him at least a year ago... I didn't check if it was set up properly, I just wrote it."