Delicate Crime Page #4

in but a few hours...

if I could be sure of life

until the break of day...

were mine vengeance otherwise.

Whereas I cannot be sure of life,

I shall take another...

though less splendid,

equally terrifying vengeance.

- Enter!

- Good sir!

On my knees, I beg thee: Let me

not die suffering the false piety...

of mine subjects who all about me

will be laughing to themselves...

...at mine pleas and my forsakenness!

- Enter!

Bye, everybody.

Antonio Martins...

- It's a pleasure.

- Likewise.

Maria Luisa.

- How are things?

- Fine.

- I don't know what to say...

- It's okay.

Well, it's been a pleasure.

Wait!

I knew you'd be here today.

I really wanted to meet you.

I always read yours reviews and...

- I'm a little embarrassed.

- Don't be. Everything is fine.

- Really?

- Yes.

- But it may seem that I...

- It doesn't, okay?

- Have you eaten yet?

- No.

What about dinner?

I don't go out with actresses.

Fine.

Neither I with critics.

Shall we?

Where to?

Hello!

- Are you lonesome?

- Why?

- You look like a lonely man.

- Is that so?

Like those who need care.

That's good.

You know a lot about men,

don't you?

- Enough.

- For what?

- To take care of them.

- How nice.

Have you ever been married?

- I've had some affairs.

- Did they last long?

Is this some sort of interrogatory

for a gossip magazine?

- I'm the journalist here.

- I'm sorry.

- I was just asking.

- What for?

I don't know.

Isn't that why we go out with people?

I don't know. I came because you

had something to say to me.

Maybe you have,

and I think I know what it is.

You probably want to establish

some sort of intimacy...

so that you can ask me what

I thought about your play...

thus compromising

my opinion a little.

If not about the play,

at least about your work.

It must be difficult for you since

you've been working hard...

for so long on your career and

saw in me a way to leverage it.

Bringing me here,

exposing me as your trophy.

Maybe you wanted that,

and maybe I wanted things too.

Who knows,

we could exchange something.

Maybe you could

slowly suck my dick...

while I wrote an exclusive about

the great revelation of the stages.

Maybe you could be a little more

generous, meeting me now and then...

to change this lonely

appearance you say I have.

I might even fall in love,

which wouldn't be difficult and...

soon I'd notice that passion is

an invention of bourgeois literature.

Then you'd regret approaching me...

realizing that a shitty compliment...

means nothing more than a

good f*** on a cold night.

That on the next day would be

no more than a memory.

Maybe I could look into your eyes,

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