"Nighthawks" (fragments)
Edward Hopper
lundredi This was a day that was night. All day. A day of tears background made me nocturnal. One day when, as a Hughes, I had one wish: to make my bubble a bunker, forever. My gut flush of grief, if pushed, not pick up more street, nor life, nor the inclination.
They had met at Phillies, a bay at the bottom of my block. My coffee cup was empty. He asked me to fill it with a pint of beer. I accepted. I was out of my studio without purpose or desire.
j'm'affichais the Phillies quite regularly, just to check qu'mes batteries were always ad hoc world. Until then, it's doing. I scribbled the rough, typed the discussion, did laugh sometimes m'suffisait it.
Eddy sat beside me. I stashed my doodles on my lap while he adjusted his boots at the bar stool.
- write to you what?
Yes, I do not hide. I rested my drafts on the bar.
- I do not know really. I write.
- I can read?
He said it like that line. Dredge was not a plan. I said yes, he read.
- not bad, not bad at all, but there ... stuff ... ... I would not know.
It's been almost a month since we sat side by side, Eddy and me at the bar of the Phillies, almost a month since we s'parlait writing, our lives a little , of our dreams, but nothing more. Eddy and I were becoming friends of the bay, flat-nosed as accomplices.
And then that day and night, through the window yellow Phillies, I saw it sitting in my place, next to Eddy! it gave me a dirty blow pen in my heart. My anchor was dropped, I drifted long.
Since I no longer go to the Phillies. I decided to join Howard.
I had not understood that Eddy him, loved Only thing was my stammer, just my stutter.
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