Este é um rascunho, terá erros. Façam-mos notar, por favor.
p az
Mal abrigada debaixo de uma sacada, uma mulher molhada, vê parar à sua frente, uma carrinha de caixa aberta. Chovia copiosamente, e ela, desprevenida, a meio do caminho entre qualquer sítio e algum lugar, aguardava, talvez já tarde, que espraiasse. Reparou que na carrinha seguia um homem de bigode, camisa aberta e volta de ouro com a face de Cristo coroado de espinhos pendendo, galhardete do SLB pendurado no retrovisor, ouvindo o CD do Zé Cabra. Atrás, na caixa de carga aberta, encolhia-se num dos cantos, uma mulher de aspecto miserável. Não que fosse miserável; era jovem e bonita. Mas tinha a roupa ensopada, o cabelo ensarilhado e escorrido e estava toda encolhida a um canto, quase amarrotada. Quer por demorar o semáforo a virar, ou simplesmente, por chover e o tempo passar mais devagar, a carrinha demorou a arrancar, permitindo uma troca cúmplice de olhar entre duas compagnon de route, íntimas confidencias silenciosas entre duas mulheres molhadas.
A carrinha afastou-se aos primeiros piscares do homenzinho da passadeira. Foi-se o galhardete, mais as lágrimas do Zé Cabra. Ficaram as lágrimas da mulher molhada, vexada na sua condição. Só uma coisa lhe fazia confusão; ao sentir arrancar a carrinha, a mulher encolhida deitou a mão ao bordo da caixa de carga e esboçou um sorriso caridoso para a mulher molhada.
Poorly sheltered under the balcony, a wet woman, watches as a pick-up van stops right in front of her. Rain pours, and she, caught of guard, half way between here and there, waited for the rain to clear. She notice the man in the van, a fat man, wearing a half-way open shirt, showing a gold chain with a crucifix. A small flag of a once great football club hang from the rear-view mirror. Some greasy singer sang a song named 'Tears'. In the pick-up box, tucked in one of the corners, a woman shrunk miserably. Not that she was a miserable woman. She was young and pretty. But her clothes were completely wet, her hair was all crumpled up and she was stuffed in a corner like a pile of rags. Maybe because the traffic light took longer than usual to turn, maybe because when it rains, time goes by slower, the van took longer to drive away, allowing the two compagnon de route to look at each other, exchanging the most intimate look two wet women ever could.
The van drove off as soon as the little red man started to blink. Gone was the little flag and gone was the song 'Tears'. The only remaining tears were the ones of the wet woman, hurt in her condition. Still, something was puzzling her; sensing the van driving away, the crumpled woman grabbed the edge of the pick-up box and sketched a smile, a charitable smile.
p az
Mal abrigada debaixo de uma sacada, uma mulher molhada, vê parar à sua frente, uma carrinha de caixa aberta. Chovia copiosamente, e ela, desprevenida, a meio do caminho entre qualquer sítio e algum lugar, aguardava, talvez já tarde, que espraiasse. Reparou que na carrinha seguia um homem de bigode, camisa aberta e volta de ouro com a face de Cristo coroado de espinhos pendendo, galhardete do SLB pendurado no retrovisor, ouvindo o CD do Zé Cabra. Atrás, na caixa de carga aberta, encolhia-se num dos cantos, uma mulher de aspecto miserável. Não que fosse miserável; era jovem e bonita. Mas tinha a roupa ensopada, o cabelo ensarilhado e escorrido e estava toda encolhida a um canto, quase amarrotada. Quer por demorar o semáforo a virar, ou simplesmente, por chover e o tempo passar mais devagar, a carrinha demorou a arrancar, permitindo uma troca cúmplice de olhar entre duas compagnon de route, íntimas confidencias silenciosas entre duas mulheres molhadas.
A carrinha afastou-se aos primeiros piscares do homenzinho da passadeira. Foi-se o galhardete, mais as lágrimas do Zé Cabra. Ficaram as lágrimas da mulher molhada, vexada na sua condição. Só uma coisa lhe fazia confusão; ao sentir arrancar a carrinha, a mulher encolhida deitou a mão ao bordo da caixa de carga e esboçou um sorriso caridoso para a mulher molhada.
Poorly sheltered under the balcony, a wet woman, watches as a pick-up van stops right in front of her. Rain pours, and she, caught of guard, half way between here and there, waited for the rain to clear. She notice the man in the van, a fat man, wearing a half-way open shirt, showing a gold chain with a crucifix. A small flag of a once great football club hang from the rear-view mirror. Some greasy singer sang a song named 'Tears'. In the pick-up box, tucked in one of the corners, a woman shrunk miserably. Not that she was a miserable woman. She was young and pretty. But her clothes were completely wet, her hair was all crumpled up and she was stuffed in a corner like a pile of rags. Maybe because the traffic light took longer than usual to turn, maybe because when it rains, time goes by slower, the van took longer to drive away, allowing the two compagnon de route to look at each other, exchanging the most intimate look two wet women ever could.
The van drove off as soon as the little red man started to blink. Gone was the little flag and gone was the song 'Tears'. The only remaining tears were the ones of the wet woman, hurt in her condition. Still, something was puzzling her; sensing the van driving away, the crumpled woman grabbed the edge of the pick-up box and sketched a smile, a charitable smile.
Comentários
Help, please. All recommend this program to effectively advertise on the Internet, this is the best program!