Almost every night I come home and be exhausted but started writing while I drink a glass of wine. Sometimes I am surprised and it is almost time to go open the store, I just do not want to go back to Cali with empty hands, will not go home with their tails between their legs. Writing is an exercise, a discipline, is like thousands of push-ups for muscle hypertrophy that one day will put my name in block letters on Broadway (I do not settle for an Off Broadway, I did not settle).
When I look in the mirror in the morning the rise of hairline reminds me that I crossed the barrier 30, the fight that I have married to this city is not a trial but an endurance test, which New York is my lover and also my enemy, that every day I get up to conquer and to conquer. I go to work in the store after very little sleep and when evening falls the last rays of sun I increase the excitement, I think of Julia.
Now it's summer and evening after nine o'clock when people have already begun to enter the bar and be the first beer, but about six o'clock the heart begins to give me the first warning.
Almost every day I get exercise with your suitcase filled with whatever you wear girls dancing ballet. The door opens and there stands the figure of Julia, a small, thin, thin and delicate as a sigh, like a Sunday evening in Soho.
At midnight in the bar traffic is barbaric and Julia seems to dance between the tables, getting tips, taking orders, while I feign interest in the stories of drunks de la barra que beben y comen maní.
Ayer tenía la noche libre y sabía que Julia no estaba, que llegaría directo a sentarme en la barra a tomarme un vodka y a comer maní sin querer contarle nada a mi propio reemplazo. Pensarán que sería mejor descansar, llegar temprano a casa y pasar la noche frente a la máquina de escribir ganándome la letra de molde en Broadway, pero la vida está en seguir el instinto, en irse de bruces hacia donde te lleve el olfato. No esperé por Julia, descansé de la excitación cardíaca hasta que ella descargó en el suelo su maletín de ejercicio y se sentó a mi lado.
- Un día de mierda dijo - antes de order a whiskey and start the conversation ever had.
When I spoke of Juanchito dance and she told me stories of their parents in Ponce. There was a turning point, a broken destiny written a historical development which coincided with the pressure of my right hand on his waist. I felt all brown, small, thin, thin and delicate as a sigh, like a Sunday evening in Soho.
At this time singing in the shower and think about what lies you tell your parents. I'll see her soon walk through that door, wrapped in my towel and I know that maybe I have another reason to do so, to stay. Julia is not going to settle for less, this is an exercise, thousands of push-ups, step forward, closer to his name and mine in print in Broadway.
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