Neon and the name of the house was everything to them. Neon pink. Dark night. Costumes white. Two detectives. Hawaii, Hawaii only. Neon pink, flowered shirts, Ray ban blacks. Dick entered the place looking at the girls who in turn looked at him. Each invited him with his eyes to his bed upholstered in leopard skin. This is my night, Dick thought, not realizing that he thought that every night. In the past the next morning with a hangover and a half empty whiskey bottle without lid near its pink satin sheets. And in the future after getting up and brushing your teeth in hideous tiled bathroom bright pink and the floor filled with small pools of water, sky and magazines cut carpets. Mark was, however, more relaxed. He had his girlfriend who loved so much as cheating. His name was Sheena, Sharon, or something. At this time of night could not remember. Just came in, the two looked directly at the bottom of the place, where his usual table. But this time was occupied. The occupant, a simple black with a gold tooth, many necklaces, a wide pink shirt tucked into his tight black pants and a buckle of a golf ball. Dick enraged and took off his glasses, looked by far the black had not noticed his presence. He felt his pockets full of dollars, markets and some pills that he had sent a psychiatrist. Poor psychiatrist, Dick was not worth studying a patient. Dick was a worm worth spit. But at this point night, our friend could not tell if I had to take the blue pill, or orange. Tuesday and Friday were blue orange?. Sheena was the girlfriend of his friend, on Tuesday, and some bitch of a white motel, cheap (but good gratuity) on Wednesdays? Whatever. The black buckle showing a golf ball rings with imitation gold and emeralds and sapphires. "I think this is our table," said Mark. And Dick got ahead, as if he wanted the lead role in this conversation, and if it cost him a red spot of blood in his impeccable white suit, did not matter. The black man looked at Nick, took a sip of your screwdriver adorned with a paper parasol and toothpicks, orange and white, and then looked at his nails perfectly cut and filed. Massaging the hands that make me in the club are excellent, thought, and then managed to say - I think that took me and my friends a long time ago - and then looked at who was at his side, also black, with face marked by a chicken pox or something, and the square hair up - Sorry, not invited to a cigarette, do you want? - And showed his gold cigarette case with the initials JB (James Bean would it be? Mark was asked to himself, as he looked awful good guard the golden flowers framing the initials). Dick looked at his face black, proud to be what it was, proud of that awful golf ball he had in his belt, and proud of the money he had. Then pulled out a red knife, and showed the black - I think change your mind, no? - Dick said showing the knife and with a wink. From time to time, the black threw the table for spreading out the screwdriver, floral arrangement and a plate of sandwiches. Mess in the room. My friends, we love these situations, and be honest with me, all we encourage from our being more chickenshit and sorry to happen. As two cars crashing in the middle of a street, police or grabbing a thief and beat him constantly. Some people looked back, other followed by dancing to a song that day had rung all day talking about on the beach while Dick, with his little blue shorts, I went tanning a girl, now, under the influence of whiskey and a few few shots of pisco, could not remember his name. Dick threw himself against the black interior drawing from his pocket a revolver. How the fuck was the name? Randy?, Sandy?, Black threw the screwdriver in the face and hit a good punch in the nose. Impact. Dick fell on the table by sticking with the edge of this in the back. Mandy? Thought unsafe. While Mark fought pathetically, as an actor, with styling black square. Dick grabbed his revolver on the floor and pointed to the pink shirt, specifically to a fold near one of the last buttons. Fired. Randy, was Rnady insurance. The black man fell to the ground after a moan and he managed to throw a knife that was down to Dick, but failed. Dick, sore, remembered the girl. She was blonde or not? Well, that matters, I have a black man who is dying in front of me. Black shit, I had stolen the table. He looked at the pathetic fight Mark and the other black and shot the ceiling. - Stop fighting and get out now! - Said angrily. - The black, who was lying on the floor, got up and ran. Mark asked, confused explanations, but he was given. Dick
recovered. Lucid, stood with his yellow handkerchief and wiped his bloody nose while his other hand touched the bag to market. Doing this imagined place in the bathroom taking a kick on his business card. Went straight to a blonde who danced alone, now a dreadful ballad. He took her hips and said
- Sandy?
- No, Monica
- Same thing - she whispered, barely raising his voice.
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