World-Wolf - (ENGLISH)

Chapter 11

Arthritis lift took a while to get the basement. Boys, someone gotta die to convince the hospital to buy another lift. Someone have to leave the skin, seriously. It's like a sort of sacrifice that indigenous people, who lived in middle of Mexico, used to do. Those guys ripped the heart away from the chest of a human being and rubbed it on a stone to pay homage to God of Sun. Aztecs,  just now I have remembered their name.

Anyway, Duerf Lomo killed me and I went on thinking about him for two minutes. Then, I arrived at basement and the psychoanalyst who studied human being's mind for all the life disappeared from my thoughts. 

Now, it was mom's turn. She had the right. The morgue was exactly next to the lift. What a moron I'm. Sometimes I do stuff like don't read the indications and find myself in place like Bangladesh. But I don't swear at all. It's my fault if I am not up reading stuff around. 

Some people kill me. You see them dropping down millions of files and they give the fault to a random stranger. What a devils, those ones. Boys, here no one wants to know the responsibility word. At first look - and the first look in the County is the phoniest law released by Imaginary Dictator - responsibilities looked like an abstract, colossal thing. Jesus. Colossal? I suppose Dickens didn't use the word colossal in one of his novels either. 

Once a dude was talking about Dickens. He said "Dickens is the biggest novelist of all time". The plump child never read a book by Stephen King. This is just the truth. That one knows how to write things. Jesus, Gabe told me that I read too many novelettes; poor tells, kind of Stephen King or sci-fi stuffs. There was a period in which I liked very much those kind of stories. I mean, I put myself in the author's shoes. Boys, it's not that easy creating an imaginary world from a real world. You need lots of creativity.

Anyway, when Gabe said those kind of bastard humus drive me crazy. Why did he mind about my readings? He insisted that over twenty, a dude should read "books-who-have-revolutionized-man's-thought". He killed me every time he said that sentence. He was solemn, proud and all. The curious stuff was that he knows I didn't give a shit, but he had to play the good brother's part.

I was over the morgue doorway and there was a disgusting stink. I was nearly fainting. The signal 'Only reserved to staffs' was on the door. I had a date with mom, though. I didn't care too much about it.

Boys, you might not believe who was near a body bag. I stopped myself.

"Gabe, what the fuck are you doin' here'? I did. He turned back at once. Maybe, he wasn't accustomed anymore to that kind of vulgarity, Doc Jekyll.

"Levi, be quiet. Come here. How are you doing? Let me hug you". Boys, he was very depressed. Gabe have always been a good-looking boy, tall, blue eyes, wavy hairs and obsessed with his body. When he showed me his abdominals, I used to tell him they were suck. Shit, they were very crappy.

Anyway, Gabe hugged me and all. He had a husky voice sort of when in your home someone breaks the toilet's tank. I can't think of anything else.

"By the way, I've called ya and stuffs like that, but your damn phone made that tu... tu... So I smashed mine on the floor".

Boys, you should have seen Gabe's reaction. His pupils were almost building a ladder to go for a trip. Goddess, pupils that build a ladder. If I wrote a book, it would be a NYT wrostseller.

"What? Did you smash your phone?" Gabe said concerned. He couldn't believe it.

"Boys, shhhhh. You gotta speak lower". There was a sort of human sat on a chair with his legs on the desk. His ears were covered by gigantic headphones and he hold an iPad. That Notre Dame Hunchback was watching Netflix or something like that. Mad stuffs.