At 19.30 went to fetch his friend, it was raining and they took two umbrellas.
The medieval streets deserted and full of fog did not seem promising, probably would not find any Tizo willing to sell that night.
Lucy quickly followed him through the alleys and narrow ever darker, until they saw that he opened a door and slipped out in a room that seemed to be no, given the absence of signs or other, who warning of their presence.
She followed him in that place, hesitating.
Entering, he found a counter left immediately in front of the plank scraped chairs that seemed stolen from the house of some poor old man, the first of the tables in the corner like a radiator off the wall, made almost entirely black rust, dirt and dust. The hall, L, was as big as a medium / large home kitchen, and not all was lit: there was, on the right of the bar, a place without light table and a sofa with a few torn and dirty.
The air was stagnant for the smoke and the fact that it was time that they did not ventilate the room. Lucy seemed that every breath was like inhaling the smoke of 10 cigarettes together, and the entire room had no heating.
The people who was inside, seemed to wake up out of some of Stevenson's novel. They were all toxic, ex-convicts and unemployed.
the dynamometer was used to look at a man who gave him no less than 70 years, and that Lucy would have sworn on their identity cards to the maximum 50 marks.
A shabbily dressed man who had every appearance of being Romanian, he was the last table pretending to read a newspaper, the first tables were occupied by a black man whose face was disfigured by a knife; two men in his forties who spoke softly, with the bad hair cut, his hands red from the cold and the clothes that seemed to be taken to the landfill.
At the bar, a brute whose weight will be totaled at least 150 kg, with a shaved head and a single clump at the base of the skull that was sliding down on the leather jacket. He saw the dark area in a boy could have a pretty face, but whose bloodshot eyes were frightened Satan himself.
's friend Lucy had started talking with some of them, and Lucy, still standing at the counter, to avoid meeting the eyes of some of them, stared at the wall, then the TV and pretended to listen.
was clearly uncomfortable, she disliked the air full of smoke and stench of closed
but the most feared, perhaps, was what seemed his attitude towards them if they had watched , they would have understood from his eyes, even his thoughts.
would feel under charge ... maybe you already heard, maybe they were saying to his friend "hey, why did you bring here arrogant little bitch?"
He thought of his parents, what they would do if they had seen in a place like this.
He thought of her friends, if you would be angry, or if you would laugh to see her, so perfect, well dressed, middle-class, in a dirty cellar frequented by people that society tends to dismiss.
In those minutes I think of that people, trying to avoid applying their own categories in which society teaches us to judge people.
did not want wonder why the old man behind the counter was so finished, that guy was a young man, if he went to prison and for what crime.
He found that there was poetry, even in the squalor.
Each had a story to tell, something that would let people like Lucy, with his mouth open.
sure everyone had suffered, or had pain inflicted on others. And he thought of what remained to live in each of them.
If they had dreams or expectations, or if their life was now all over them.
Unable to give answers, he continued to ask questions. He thought that two distance from that place, her house was warm, clean and well furnished, and his little world of days planned future programs, scheduled lives.
A short man at the counter, turned to her and said "hello" smile. She answered with the same smile, and then deny their own thoughts.
The facets of human life, lies the charm of that place, of those people.
Those nuances that Lucy was trying to grasp, because for her knowledge, was one of the reasons life. If there was one thing that Lucy could not stand, it was the superficiality of the people.
For her this was the real sin, together with the superficial assumption, and the environment in which he lived was full of people like that.
thought back to the words of a song: "If there's one thing that is immoral, it's banality."
And that place for someone like her, was far from trivial.
That day, in the mosaic of experiences that made her life would remain forever in relief.
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