HELLO EVERYONE!!!
Well, I opened a new blog and I hope you guys and girls love it, dig it and write me back everything you can think of. I thought I would start by letting you read something new. I wrote this story yesterday and I must say I am surprised at the new style that sprang from between these lines. Read it and feedback will be enormously appreciated.
TRICKS OF THE TRADE
The door closed. The deal was done and the business was safe. Gabriel Walladem sighed and bowed his head, his eyes met his 120-dollar silk tie. He smiled. He had been almost everything in the stock exchange business since he started seventeen years before. He had knocked doors and tried to convince small entrepreneurs to let Smith & Wallace handle their aspiring stocks down in the old building. He had run back and forth wearing a blue vest with the words “Smith & Wallace” on the back, a little notepad in his hand and shout ready in his throat “I’m buying!”, “Selling!” or “Stop!”
Looking at his beautiful crimson tie he remembered the day Roger Smith and Harold Wallace walked him to his first office like a gay couple taking their adopted son to school, there wasn’t much in there: just a little desk, a chair, a file keeper and box of colored paper clips on the desk. It was not a big deal but it was his office, no more running, no more door knocking. From there on there would be a lot of paper writing and contract designing. It doesn’t sound appealing to us but it did to the young mister Walladem who, back then, wore a 20-dollar tie and a pair of horrible snake leather boots.
It had been ten years since that day and now he was sole representative for Smith, Wallace and Walladem, Stockbrokers. Larry Henderson had just left his office after signing a contract that bound him to mister Walladem for yet another year. The company was okay, but retaining Henderson Inc. meant larger profits for Walladem. Smith and Wallace had died a couple years before while traveling from New York to Sao Paulo, the plane went down somewhere near Venezuela and was never found. “Too bad for the gay couple” he thought, “now I can go to school by myself.” He did not resent their existence, he had much to be grateful for; but it was time for him to stand on his own.
Gabriel left the office early. He was the boss, he could do it if he wanted to. He didn’t go to play tennis and he didn’t go to the spa to pop in at his masseuse’s. He drove around downtown for good two hours, windows rolled up and some chill out music bosting out of his mp3 player. “That CD will go on for another three hours, maybe” Gabriel thought, and as he turned left on Third Avenue he decided to go home. The man was half Indian and half American and he felt comfortable neither way. He did, anyway, have some very strict costumes from both sides: he got up early in the morning everyday and greet the sun by touching his face with both hands and then opening his arms while staring at the sun. He was also pretty careful about his meals: No cow, no beef. But that was not the full extension of his habits, he applied them at work as well: No business with liars, no business with clowns and no business with untruthful women. If it were up to him he would kill all three of them. Then again, it might just be luck that it is not all up to him.
Life had been good to mister Walladem. He didn’t have a beautiful wife but he had enjoyed the company of different ladies who excelled at loving a man during very short nights, in such sense Gabriel felt a true heir to his indian background: a thousand lovers, I will surround them with my charms and they shall surround me with theirs, I shall taste bliss in their bodies and they will drink too from my body as well. A book, a very old book, stood lonely on a shelf by his desk: a copy of a volume with stories to make little indian children sleep and there was a fable in it.
A tiger met and elephant and they hadn’t ever seen each other or one of the kind. “What are you?” asked the tiger tempting the air with his long whiskers, “are you some kind of demon?” The elephant did not pay great attention to the question because he was thinking the same thing about the tiger. They never touched each other but thought of methods for killing one another. They found that they were different, quite indeed, and strong in odd ways. The elephant could never reach the tiger and the tiger could never sink his fangs in that ground-hard skin. So they just walked away, did not look back and did not say one more word and therefore neither tigers nor elephants speak or attack each other. At the bottom of the page in the fable book there were italics reading Wisdom is ignoring he who can hurt you, sympathy is ignoring he who you can hurt.
Gabriel Walladem read this fable everyday with religious precision and looked forward to reading it to his son one day and make him remember always to stay clean, never step beyond unbeatable boundaries. Only that he didn’t have a son. He had a company, Smith, Wallace & Walladem and a shelf with one book on it. And that was all he could lose, no great commitment. A trick of the trade was what Gabriel called it, a no-strings-attached lifesaver. No deep feelings of affection for people or objects, the first made him very un-indian and the second very un-american. Another reason no to belong somewhere and the best to be labeled as citizen of the world, aspiring warrior in the stock business and marvelous knight at eluding lives he does not wish to spend a lifetime living.
A woman different to his mother once loved him, she was forgotten but the scars he left on her face after one night of very rough sex just didn’t disappear and she could not get rid of the memory of him. She craved him for some reason, maybe his brunette skin, his deep honey-colored eyes or the mesmerizing prank his voice pulled on the ladies forced her to remember mister Walladem. Promises buzzing in her ear, cheerless oaths speaking of peaceful days to come was all that Gabriel had left her. No great commitment, trick of the trade buddy. Watch and learn, here comes the Indo-American dude walking his life style towards us and he won’t care when he passes by, that’s how he gets the chicks, man. That’s what we gotta do and we’ll be with sweet babes in no time! What do you say? Should we take a shot?
Gabriel Walladem kept a picture of his mother in the night table drawer by his bed, he cherished it. Every night before he fell asleep and before that night girl-on-duty woke up. Sometimes they stayed at his apartment for days, sometimes they didn’t spend the night there. Some said he was violent and scary, some other said he was loving and careful. He never said a word on the issue, discrete guy, you know. He’s smooth, he kicks the tires before he leaves. Trick of the trade, I’m telling you, chum, but you will not listen. I’m not gonna be after you watching over every step you take. Watch and learn, here come the Indo-American dude walking his life style towards us. You like it, don’t you? You wanna be him for a minute. Well, he sometimes cries locked up in his office bathroom, he wishes he were dead and moans at the thought of having to close yet another business before someone comes by, someone worthy of taking the torch after he’s gone. Someone he can teach the tricks of the trade. You wanna be him, don’t you? You wanna walk the Indo-American dude life style towards people. I do, don’t you?
FEDERICO AC.
19.12.2K3.
So now you know, My true name is Federico.
Well, I opened a new blog and I hope you guys and girls love it, dig it and write me back everything you can think of. I thought I would start by letting you read something new. I wrote this story yesterday and I must say I am surprised at the new style that sprang from between these lines. Read it and feedback will be enormously appreciated.
TRICKS OF THE TRADE
The door closed. The deal was done and the business was safe. Gabriel Walladem sighed and bowed his head, his eyes met his 120-dollar silk tie. He smiled. He had been almost everything in the stock exchange business since he started seventeen years before. He had knocked doors and tried to convince small entrepreneurs to let Smith & Wallace handle their aspiring stocks down in the old building. He had run back and forth wearing a blue vest with the words “Smith & Wallace” on the back, a little notepad in his hand and shout ready in his throat “I’m buying!”, “Selling!” or “Stop!”
Looking at his beautiful crimson tie he remembered the day Roger Smith and Harold Wallace walked him to his first office like a gay couple taking their adopted son to school, there wasn’t much in there: just a little desk, a chair, a file keeper and box of colored paper clips on the desk. It was not a big deal but it was his office, no more running, no more door knocking. From there on there would be a lot of paper writing and contract designing. It doesn’t sound appealing to us but it did to the young mister Walladem who, back then, wore a 20-dollar tie and a pair of horrible snake leather boots.
It had been ten years since that day and now he was sole representative for Smith, Wallace and Walladem, Stockbrokers. Larry Henderson had just left his office after signing a contract that bound him to mister Walladem for yet another year. The company was okay, but retaining Henderson Inc. meant larger profits for Walladem. Smith and Wallace had died a couple years before while traveling from New York to Sao Paulo, the plane went down somewhere near Venezuela and was never found. “Too bad for the gay couple” he thought, “now I can go to school by myself.” He did not resent their existence, he had much to be grateful for; but it was time for him to stand on his own.
Gabriel left the office early. He was the boss, he could do it if he wanted to. He didn’t go to play tennis and he didn’t go to the spa to pop in at his masseuse’s. He drove around downtown for good two hours, windows rolled up and some chill out music bosting out of his mp3 player. “That CD will go on for another three hours, maybe” Gabriel thought, and as he turned left on Third Avenue he decided to go home. The man was half Indian and half American and he felt comfortable neither way. He did, anyway, have some very strict costumes from both sides: he got up early in the morning everyday and greet the sun by touching his face with both hands and then opening his arms while staring at the sun. He was also pretty careful about his meals: No cow, no beef. But that was not the full extension of his habits, he applied them at work as well: No business with liars, no business with clowns and no business with untruthful women. If it were up to him he would kill all three of them. Then again, it might just be luck that it is not all up to him.
Life had been good to mister Walladem. He didn’t have a beautiful wife but he had enjoyed the company of different ladies who excelled at loving a man during very short nights, in such sense Gabriel felt a true heir to his indian background: a thousand lovers, I will surround them with my charms and they shall surround me with theirs, I shall taste bliss in their bodies and they will drink too from my body as well. A book, a very old book, stood lonely on a shelf by his desk: a copy of a volume with stories to make little indian children sleep and there was a fable in it.
A tiger met and elephant and they hadn’t ever seen each other or one of the kind. “What are you?” asked the tiger tempting the air with his long whiskers, “are you some kind of demon?” The elephant did not pay great attention to the question because he was thinking the same thing about the tiger. They never touched each other but thought of methods for killing one another. They found that they were different, quite indeed, and strong in odd ways. The elephant could never reach the tiger and the tiger could never sink his fangs in that ground-hard skin. So they just walked away, did not look back and did not say one more word and therefore neither tigers nor elephants speak or attack each other. At the bottom of the page in the fable book there were italics reading Wisdom is ignoring he who can hurt you, sympathy is ignoring he who you can hurt.
Gabriel Walladem read this fable everyday with religious precision and looked forward to reading it to his son one day and make him remember always to stay clean, never step beyond unbeatable boundaries. Only that he didn’t have a son. He had a company, Smith, Wallace & Walladem and a shelf with one book on it. And that was all he could lose, no great commitment. A trick of the trade was what Gabriel called it, a no-strings-attached lifesaver. No deep feelings of affection for people or objects, the first made him very un-indian and the second very un-american. Another reason no to belong somewhere and the best to be labeled as citizen of the world, aspiring warrior in the stock business and marvelous knight at eluding lives he does not wish to spend a lifetime living.
A woman different to his mother once loved him, she was forgotten but the scars he left on her face after one night of very rough sex just didn’t disappear and she could not get rid of the memory of him. She craved him for some reason, maybe his brunette skin, his deep honey-colored eyes or the mesmerizing prank his voice pulled on the ladies forced her to remember mister Walladem. Promises buzzing in her ear, cheerless oaths speaking of peaceful days to come was all that Gabriel had left her. No great commitment, trick of the trade buddy. Watch and learn, here comes the Indo-American dude walking his life style towards us and he won’t care when he passes by, that’s how he gets the chicks, man. That’s what we gotta do and we’ll be with sweet babes in no time! What do you say? Should we take a shot?
Gabriel Walladem kept a picture of his mother in the night table drawer by his bed, he cherished it. Every night before he fell asleep and before that night girl-on-duty woke up. Sometimes they stayed at his apartment for days, sometimes they didn’t spend the night there. Some said he was violent and scary, some other said he was loving and careful. He never said a word on the issue, discrete guy, you know. He’s smooth, he kicks the tires before he leaves. Trick of the trade, I’m telling you, chum, but you will not listen. I’m not gonna be after you watching over every step you take. Watch and learn, here come the Indo-American dude walking his life style towards us. You like it, don’t you? You wanna be him for a minute. Well, he sometimes cries locked up in his office bathroom, he wishes he were dead and moans at the thought of having to close yet another business before someone comes by, someone worthy of taking the torch after he’s gone. Someone he can teach the tricks of the trade. You wanna be him, don’t you? You wanna walk the Indo-American dude life style towards people. I do, don’t you?
FEDERICO AC.
19.12.2K3.
So now you know, My true name is Federico.
