all day I’ve been waiting for the whistle to blow
Autor: Eduardo Peixoto | Publicado: 2011-09-19T22:55:00-03:00

 She held tighter her can as the wind grew stronger and colder, rushing to resuming summer with its heat and its lack of preoccupation and intense zest. An hour had already gone by and about dozen of those same six hundred milliliters cans turned into a light pile of metallic garbage, joining four bottles each with that sip of content glass bottles always leave to themselves. The alcohol hurried through their blood tissues, but not as intense as they’d like, so the plans for something stronger became more recurrent as the night grew darker and the prospects more and more nostalgic and, at the same time, anxious, anxious to make more moments to laugh and share about for many nights like that to come. They weren’t trapped in the cage of the past yet – no, they were still too young for that – but their minds were permanently bound to that arrangement, members of a human race with all its rationality constantly wasted by these personal veins, which spurred into uncalculated fear – and part of that fear partly came from the one we have about not being able to repeat our happiness of outer times, not being able to repeat its place in our confused and impartial mind, which its lack of cohesion and truth we ignore in order to keep running a individual timeline. No, they weren’t trapped in that obnoxious work of mind yet, as it sets its linearity only in the elder – with few exceptions; none of them being a true exception – and, at this young age, appears conflicting with its surge for living the present and foreseeing the future, while being misguided and pleaded and accused by a past blended with that untrue complete fulfillment. Though lightly, that special sensation the transitory state from sober to its opposite offers was filling her eyes with excitement and her laughter was surely rising stronger, and this condition was spread all over that five-member club. The conversation was rising its tone as one memory lead to another, and as the end of one recipient led to the opening of another.  Maybe the alcohol effects and its worldwide search have something to do with the freedom that it involves – she thought, as she closed her eyes and bended her head a bit backwards. Excluding the socio-economic and biologic aspects which came in line resulting in a widespread consumption, of course, the alcohol is probably linked with this, she thought, though not taking herself seriously – and she didn’t want to, is not that she couldn’t, is that she felt happy for being able to not taking herself seriously, digging that mechanism that was involving her whole body, and accompanying perfectly the scent of the night and the buzzed bright streets. “Hello there...?” her friend now. He wanted to know if she wanted a cigarette or something, they were heading to the market. She grabbed the last one of her package, lit it, and went with them to conclude the basic planning for the rest of the night – which meant buy more booze and some smoke – and, a week later, they would gather once more, united by that same basic planning, and would talk about it in the endless hope of attaining the same amount of pleasure, while remembering a past which wasn’t far enough to come in their way, only enough to enjoy the night in its basic premises, and drink a shot in a tribute.Citação: Stray Cats - Let it Rock