The scent of blue violets


Nearly completed books

                                     2. From: The scent of blue violets and a taste of the air

I look over the balcony, and as the scent of blue violets from the flower pot below unremarkably brushes over my head, I can see pedestrians passing by, walking beside each other on the sidewalk and pressing buttons for traffic lights. Tram four is rumbling at the end of the street, making a bend and coming this way.
I feel the baby kicking against the inside of my belly. His father went away and from missing him, something began to grow inside me. And I became nauseated from time to time, as if I had eaten a wedding cake.

Yet, it was no wedding cake. At the inside of my belly, something meaty was growing, as if I had organised some grotesque barbeque and an infinite number of friends of friends showed up with their own deal of meat.  It is a Buñuel party with guests unable to leave for no apparent reason. I would like to tell them I prefer a cheese fondue, but it may just be too late.