the train that handed out silver bells

a mother showed up and i took them to the place across the street with grilled chicken, loud music on blown out speakers, and it is not entirely certain who the prostitutes are. she learned how to eat bitter kola despite protests about wanting to go to bed in the near future. the taste stays on your tongue for several hours, sweetening any type of beverage you drink. in fact i´m tired of talking about things you do or foods you eat exclusively in this region. already we were wishing we had worn some more comfortable shoes, walking along all these concrete sidewalks, marble gallery floors, subway gratings and perforated staircases designed to clean the mud from your boots without you knowing it, we couldn´t precisely say we were too tired of walking or that our bodies had grown tired of walking, only my knees hurt and her toes were cramped; the real fatigue was in watching the changing scenery: the crowded barge, the supermarket where we bought orange juice and she made me sit on the fountain ledge next to her for about forty minutes pronouncing and giggling. we thought the last car had left, but there were three other people standing there with confidence. the tubes of light were yellow. in yellow light you have to avoid talking since everything starts to resemble the crucial scene towards the end of an independent film with a minimum of action. talking would be as bad as a viewer amongst other viewers talking during the performance of such a scene. i fell asleep on the subway. we weren´t even drunk, though the timing of reponsibilities, money in our pockets and bright lights should have encouraged us. it such an evening that forgot to order drinks--they would have made you start talking, you realise just now, that was why. yeah as soon as the car took off i was asleep. i was riding in circles not feeling nauseous in a large plaza i realised because i wasn´t on the train, which turned out to be a conveyor belt upon closer inspection. i picked up a small snow globe and put it back, because a wooden box was behind it and i couldn´t disturb its place in line. i hadn´t figured out the rules of this place yet. a woman down the line whose face would change if i tried to remember it picked it up. she had a long black jacket on. a synthetic material with a matte finish. i looked away from her because i didn´t want her to know that it was a look of jealousy. maybe that´s why there was no face. i chose not to look at it. some child was crying. i told the crowd that this was no place for babies. i didn´t want them to know that i was presuming myself the informal leader of the group. i say know because when we think about people we peg down facts not because they have been amply demonstrated but to avoid the unease of having loose ends in our heads concerning matters that we nevere were all that interested in in the first place, really take it i swear i´m not gonna finish it. the train started to brake with that high moan of such constancy that it could be a type of musical instrument that these modern trains... we left the station and had fried potatoes in her arondissement. i smoked a cigarette too so no one would know she was a prostitute.