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I salute you cordially

We bought a'fabricos in primavera to satisfy our needs. It was very dusty corridored big fabricos and windows were shut with wooden planks; Jose were beating them out three weeks. Actually. Not bad business here. I mean, no bad plan for business here. Not bad segment. Dust is the first thing, that my press is associated with.  I remember that moment when we first came here to speak with bamboleros, who wanted to sell this big mechanical slave-powered thingy as soon as possible and they all looked really civilized. Actually, they all were brothers. It was quite unusual, a bunch of same looking brothers. No father, no mother. No children. No lovers. And no lawyer. I asked, if some of them were twins and they laughed me no, no twins, just brotherhood of darkside alignment.  Kind of serenity house.

I couldn't iron in my grotesque mind their names; all of jihad-brigada weared sport sweaters, labelless, shiny like early morning pond. People here around are talking about basketball, even if there's  no negros in the park, no numbers on their back, no ads on the posts. A timeless basketball team. I asked, where is their coach, and they said, that coach is in the coach, and the coach, where the coach is, goes to Lie Paja, that sounded like sophistical murmurados of crazy turkey when Nietsczzsche is grabbing his balls. Type of it. They started to look different as i told them about ayahuasca, but let's get back to the dust. One of the bros told me an anecdote, old one, about passenger in bus who asked other passenger to help him out to get tikketto. And this other passenger said something like "грузин передаст" (i wrote it down in my notebook for further purposes).

In this moment in the cabinet, where we had all this monkey business, came a maintanence woman, the old woman that scares me (i also wrote down her name in my notepad, she's called "Cbeta", you don't find  it's  quite hard to pronounce). And she started to do some joke explanation stuff for me, she asked if i ever heard about the term "peregar"?! No - i was confused, (used by confucianism?), i know "perestroika". "That's a chain, you brainy brother", she giggled, "look, it goes like peregar - perestroika - peredust". I coughed dust. Brothers coughed gar. It was like a big perelom in my head as i understood the historical evolution process. And i wanted to take my part in it.

Jose wanted to call our little firm something like "La Sentimental Resistance & Partners", he's master of compost-crap. Fuck partners! We called our business in some real, evoulutionic name. With all these walls, dust, half-gone dog at the gates, dust, doors, xylophone, xylofax and xylovision, and with all these geometrically wrong scorpio red skies above our heads: we call fabricos "Peregarrotta". For God's sake. For adequate history. And for national mumbo-jumbo.

Two weeks later we broke the first wooden plank off the window and we could see the dust better like miniaturlich  copies of  little globes and small universes. Yeah, fuck, and the majesty of second! Then Jose gave the plank to Cbeta and i looked outside thru the ambrazzuro. Roofed houses. Railway station. As well as railway, where coach in the coach goes to some strange place called Lie Paja, keeping case full of nachos chained to his hairy wrist and saying good buy to company of all-star brothers of basketball. Serenity. Street. Shop. Dog that now is ours.  And something else. I swear, i saw  The Gipsy King  there over the street  standing  unstraight at the shop door, whispering some murmurados in his  moustache. I told it Jose and he ran out in the street, he knows gipsy  language. Exactly, don't know what he wanted to ask  him, i still am dazed about his actions. So i came back into the cabinet to change water in the vase, then started to think about "Peregarrotta" logo and other supercreative stuff, when Jose flyed in like obscure penguine. 

"He was gone", Jose was sweaty as stormy cloud, "I asked Cbeta if she knows him, but i can't understand the answer. She told me to ask someone like 'souchasniegos', so i went again in the street and asked policeman if he's 'souchasniegos', could maybe he help me out, i got to find this Gipsy King. He didn't talk. I asked other people. Where are we, Hulio Alberto? What the hell is this place? I can't understand anyone around. I spoke to three more people and they all are answering 'hello, vertigo!'. I can't understand what they're talking about, it seems to me they're all talking fascism.