"Jimmy knew the secret of the bar." The creaking of the doors was one of them. The appicicaticcio alcohol tables and counter the inevitable ingredient. A bartender with unkempt beard and unbuttoned shirt. A bartender no longer young showing her charms and her breasts and an expert in her hair missing that caress the sinuous neck in locks wet with sweat. Inside a hot smell of menthol cigarettes and hair lotions aged. Lotions. But the secret one, the most sacred and genuine, the customer is essential. To identify post-modern form, space, and commodify the mystical figure of salvation for humanity that is the man to the bar. Angular faces and unique actors that could fill the world cinema. Stories mystical and earthly, secular newspaper of that crowd in the ceremony of bar, with more blood to the body of Christ, to them, wiping the blood with blood, and cleanse the body with other bodies. Among the tables heavy elbows drunk, sports newspapers, local newspapers and playing cards, the age are lost among the scents of rum and beer. And Jimmy, Jimmy knew the secret of the bar, so well that the door of paradise bar "Toilette" was framed in a plaque that sacred phrase: "Jimmy knew the secret of the bar." It was a strange boy for the job, or rather, who disdained the company and the vices of the patrons, but he did it his way. With his bushy mustache, Usually sitting at the bottom of the table. Ordered an average arrived sat, pulled down a long draft, looked around, took his notebook and began to write, but so, with a naturalness that, as if he were playing cards, wrote, drank and talked with us, joking , lived and wrote the bar. Who knows Jimmy, now has written a novel about the stories on those crazy drunks, old people who read the newspaper on the sports, or drinking on the bottom. Or maybe who knows all that material will be used for one of those modern things, material from blogs.
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