357. Dàjalog.

1 Ott

After this.

The Barbon Man and the Toxic Man meet in Streetlet Street.

The Toxic Man has a bottle of beer posed near and an unlighted cigarette cast between two fingers of his right hand. He indeed does see the Barbon Man and smiles to him.

THE TOXIC MAN. I guess you came to ask me about the five euros I’m indebted with with you, no?

THE BARBON MAN. No, of course not. I came because I feel very near to you, especially this evening.

THE TOXIC MAN seems upset. Why?

THE BARBON MAN. Because I’m sad.

THE TOXIC MAN. Have you money?

THE BARBON MAN. Never more. How do you think I should have money?

THE TOXIC MAN. I did’nt understand you question.

THE BARBON MAN. Nor I. Can I sit by you on this beautiful pankeen?

THE TOXIC MAN. Of course you can; and you may, too.

The Barbon Man sits by the Toxic Man on the beautiful pankeen (the best one of the passeggiate).

THE TOXIC MAN continues to say: You know, it’s so touching to come back to my pankeen, every evening, and find your humid, silly pair of eyes fixing me such sentimentally. I think you are a holy hand for my heart, and I would love hearing you saying me: I love you. Please, take a cigarette.

THE BARBON MAN. No, thanks so much. It’s so wasted on me. I always carry with me my own packet of tobacco.

The Barbon Man shows the packet of his own tobacco.

THE TOXIC MAN. This probably is an offense. Probably I’m compelled to introduce my knife to your bowels. And I hate your tobacco, it stinks.

THE BARBON MAN. Would you roll up one or two cigarettes with my tobacco? You’re welcome.

THE TOXIC MAN. Thank you very much indeed, I’ll roll up three or five cigarettes, because of this night, that’s very long to pass.

The Barbon Man gives the purse to the Toxic Man, and this last begins to roll up some cigarettes with the stinking tobacco.

THE TOXIC MAN not looking at the other, and seguitating to roll up his stinking cigarettes. Please kiss me. Make a tentative, at least.

THE BARBON MAN up on his feet, improvisely. No, don’t I want.

THE TOXIC MAN. I feel relaxing to stay by you, sitting on these pankeen. When you stay up on your feet I think I could kill you.

He trays his own dangerous knife from his pocket, he opens it and he shows it to the Barbon Man.

THE TOXIC MAN insists: Say me I love you.

THE BARBON MAN. If not?

THE TOXIC MAN. Have a little boccade of beer.

The Barbon Man afferrates the bottle of beer, and he drinks two or three boccades.

THE TOXIC MAN, attempting to stop him. You are a real fucking sticky hopeless Barbon! Don’t drink it all, you bastard!

THE BARBON MAN stops to drink for a second, just to say. Love you so much, my friend,

and reprends to drink.

THE TOXIC MAN. Give me a kiss.

The Barbon Man makes the gesture to kiss most passionately the Toxic Man. The Toxic Man trays the dangerous knife from his pocket, affers the head of the Barbon Man, stringes his neck with the fore-arm and appropinquates the point of the dangerous knife to the Barbon’s Man nose, that squirrels, non-obstant suffocating.

THE TOXIC MAN. How dare you, inverted scoundrel? What do you want from me? Do you want your skeefous five euros, isn’t it?

THE BARBON MAN, arriving to sporge a hand, half-squirreling, half-suffocating, half-begging. Yes, please.

At this moment a not so young subproletarian couple runs in, quarreling about who knows what; she’s fat, with sconvoulted hair, and roteates a little purse, attempting to give it fortly on her boyfriend’s head. Her boyfriend carries a chair, with a cat on it, and searches to make the cat attack the woman screaming, and contemporanely to give the chair on her head, with particular hate. The two yell some not easily comprensible sentences (“… M’hai inculato la dose, cornuto!!… ” “… Te ne approfitti perché sono moribondo, puttana!!”) and vanish quite rapidly in lontanance. Vanishing, the chair scrickiolates; the cat meeowes.

The Toxic Man and the Barbon Man have rested to see what was coming up. The Toxic Man ceased to strangolate the Barbon Man.

THE BARBON MAN, with weep in his voice. I don’t believe in love.

THE TOXIC MAN, stending himself on the pankeen. I feel so tired. Say me goodnight.

THE BARBON MAN. Goodnight, my friend.

THE TOXIC MAN, traying two or three packets of stinking tobacco from his pocket. Please, have one.

THE BARBON MAN, taking. Oh, thank you so much. But… er…

THE TOXIC MAN. Yes?

THE BARBON MAN. I lack of carteens.

THE TOXIC MAN. Papers, isn’t it?

THE BARBON MAN. Exactly.

THE TOXIC MAN allongating him two boxes of carteens. Have them.

THE BARBON MAN. Here, tomorrow evening.

THE TOXIC MAN. See you, my friend.

The Barbon Man allontanates. The Toxic Man falls asleep in a crash.

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