The music is silent and the lights go on... Everyone is running somewhere... A guy in a D&G designer t-shirt grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me.
"The fuzz! The cops have blocked the exits!" he shouts.
I start to stumble in the direction in which most people are going and I trip and fall flat on my face... I can feel terrible pains in my back and legs and I realise that the crowd is trampling on me, and I haven't the strength to get up and I curl up on the floor, covering my head with my hands, while boots and sneakers tramp over me, tearing my shirt... Suddenly I feel as if I am leaving my body... the pain ceases, I feel a sensation of peace and freedom and I observe my body from above, as if I were floating in the air just below the ceiling...
YOU ARE READING
LAST CUBA LIBRE
General FictionIf you're looking for a gripping read, look no further than "Last Cuba Libre". Meet Jessica, who's a bit of a slag. Claudio, who rocks designer threads and snorts lots of cocaine. Then there's Tony, cruising in his Porsche, leaving a trail of broken...
