I walked into a pub that had two doors, one entrance and one exit, and sat down at the bar. I ordered a beer. In a seat further to the right was sitting Luca Prodan who was ranting against the clowns. He was saying "clowns are shit"; "clowns are stupid". The dishwasher grabbed a bottle and smashed it against the edge of the bar. The glass exploded but didn't touch me, and that's weird because all the beer in the bottle landed on my face, as if the beer had artificial intelligence and moved deliberately against my face.
-I'm sick of hearing you talk bad about clowns!
-Clowns are bullshit.
-That's the last time I'm telling you that. Next time it's going to be very bad for you! Is that clear? I decided to intervene.
-Be quiet. -Don't you know who the guy you're yelling at is? It's Luca Prodan.
-I know who he is and I don't give a shit! We're all clowns here and we're sick and tired of of listening to him talking bad about clowns, aren't we, guys? The clowns nodded.
-The clowns are stupid.
-Enough!
Two huge headless guys grabbed Luca and me by the neck and dragged us out of the bar. I wiped my knees and helped him up.
-Thanks a lot. This is the only bar where they serve gin and now I'm a persona non grata.
-I was just trying to help you.
-It's okay, kid.
-Why do you hate clowns?
-Do you like clowns?
-Well no, but I'd like to know specifically why you hate them.
-Because they're stupid. I hate clowns with that shitty face paint. The sad and stupid clown. Clowns are like reggae, once we had to see and listen to it but that was before we realized it was bullshit. And when we realized that we had two possibilities: to continue being stupid and laugh at the stupid clowns and listen to reggae or to oppose all that shit.
-I don't understand you but I think I understand what you feel.
-Well, the truth is that. I don't know what you're doing here and I don't know why you're staying but I have to go.
-Luca!
-What?
-What's up with "El Ojo Blindado"?
-WHAT A STUPID QUESTION, BYE BYE, MAN.
-Wait, can I come with you?
-Nope.
-Why?
-There's no explanation. You just can't.
-How do I get out of here?
-Only you know that.
Luca left and I walked around this place a couple of times.I approached an old man who was sitting on a garbage can in the middle of the avenue and asked him if he knew how I could leave this place. He said, "Just pick up what's in front of you" I walked a few steps and grabbed the bottom part of the asphalt and lifted it as if it were the curtain of a theater stage, passed to the other side, unrolled it and left it as it was. A girl with glasses and braces smiled, took me by the hand and said: "What took you so long?
YOU ARE READING
I.C.U
General Fiction"Debbie Harry and Kurt Cobain; Luca Prodan; a city that burns; a freckled girl who leaves; a war on a mysterious island and a cursed writer are the flashes that run through the mind of a teenager who suffered a motorcycle accident."
