Let me tell ya...

The graceful laugh preceded a notable affliction in her voice. Jamie had to go. I didn't understand the way my stomach sang, somethin' close to Tom Waits singin' in an unexplainable rhythm. "God, it was only a weekend, why do I feel like this?", I asked to myself. Or to God, I don't know. I couldn't think in nothing, but Jamie. The gone Jamie, my sweetest relationship.

I forgot how to play my guitar. I simply couldn't play one fuckin' stupid song, my fingers became ten robots that only obeyed to the cellphone. "Should I call her? She'll get married, it's foolishness!", and I hesitated. Then, I became sleepless. The hours seem ages, everything was in slowmotion. Me, Benjamin Turner, the intolerant piece of shit from Leicester couldn't appreciate the pleasure of sleep because of some irresponsible spanish redhead. What lips...

Ironical. Yeah, I guess that's how life really is. I tried everything. Gym, part-time jobs, porn, hookers, books, movies and every possible way to fall sleep. But I was blindly fallen in love. Every word started with "ja" and ended with "mie". So, in a rainy november night, a magnificent image invaded my street. I didn't have my glasses, but I was pretty sure: red is a stunning color.