The Observer

It was another late hours. I left the newsroom, late afternoon, tired for another day of hard work, just wanting a glass of cold beer, walking that fine rain, I came across an old establishment, almost falling apart. I decided to enter that nothing inviting space. Curiosity and fatigue were responsible for the decision. I was in a bar forgotten in time, but that seemed to have lived glory days in the past.

Upon entering that dimly lit place I saw a few tables and chairs reminiscent of the bars of the early twentieth century.

On each table a red lamp that contrasted with the "decoration" of sadness in that location. On the left, a waiter was cleaning a glass. He looked startled, as if estranhasse the presence of another life there. She looked down quickly and spoke in a very serious tone:

• What will you want?

I still curious about that place scared me with his speech and answered almost stammering:

• Um ... Whiskey ...

I thought more appropriate. He then served me and I went looking for a place to sit. Since there was no public in that bar, I sit in a place in the corner, next to a large mirror that covered the entire wall to see what might happen in the minutes that whiskey reserved me.

While all this was happening in the background a fitting soundtrack was in full effect. Soon after the empty chairs, a very small stage in which barely fit the piano, the pianist and singer, or would be a singer? Do not know. The fact is that she played an extremely dramatic and sustained blues.

The costume was entitled to the site. The dress appeared to be very old, but at another time has been one of the most envied and desired by all women in the region.

Hearing that voice (recorded) sad, time passed and the dose over. It was time to go. Nothing looked like it would happen even. There was no point to spend more time there. Tiredness had already given a little respite and I was ready to go to my house, watch some TV, finish that book.

When I arrive at the counter to pay the count, a beautiful woman enters, looking a little over 60 years, dressed as if for an opera, and all imposing. Dona scene. It seemed light bar that darkened the abandonment.

She stopped next to me and asked for a drink the waiter who seemed to know this woman. quickly drank that foreign name drink and was calmly and cautiously to the direction of the stage.

I, dazzled by his brilliance, did not have time to realize what was going to happen. Neither the occupants of that stage as well. The woman then pulled out a small silver gun from his bag and fired two shots, one in the pianist and the other decadent singer. Fallen wig after the shot, denounced their gender.

I was paralyzed by fear. The waiter also. She came toward us with such sweetness that seems momentarily forgotten what had just happened. Upon arriving very close to us, he pointed the gun again and fired. The waiter dropped and the eternal glass to be cleaned, went along with it.

Feeling that I would be next, I decided to face the sad reality and looked at her directly, with a hint of firmness.

Quietly she ran her hand over my face velvet, left a red lipstick mark on my skin and shot herself.

Perplexed and in the midst of this urban tragedy, I was some frozen moments until the police and several onlookers crowded into that bar I understand now, the pictures behind the counter before passed unnoticed, once belonged to that sweet lady who gave order to the lonely lives there existed.