a fiesta of charms

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
...Junipa...
...sanguine thoughts settled with the idea that a little panic
would be appreciated...the monotone voice would lull in a
fashion orchestrating dire thoughts on Sunday evening
suppers, long walks towards cold Churches, dust collected on
windowsills housing soiled underwear, bad literature and
perhaps an incompetently knitted sweater...
...the fatal she...
...on the morning of her award, that award I assumed would
mean so much to her... prize money and a year of expenses to
research anything in the anthropological world she desired, she
had intimated that something wasn’t right...throwing a banana
unpeeled at the clock on the wall whilst mentioning
Marxism...though I smiled at this, I soon became worried... later
that evening I started watching her through binoculars, where I
saw her speaking to herself in a roused manner, angrily
shouting words I couldn’t discern, until a few hours passed and
I reentered the flat...we ate dinner prepared a few days prior,
beef lasagne, salad with a bit of Camembert that she had
brought from her sisters place...a glass of red wine, as we sat
together but very much alone...she interrupts a long period of
silence I failed to contest with the idea that she felt she was
21