Nuestros amantes Page #3

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Hardly ever.

But, according to your theory,

you score because

you've aroused a feeling of pity.

And deep down, all guys know that.

But we never talk about it.

And never will.

It's our secret.

Do you and your inner child

mind if I go to the washroom?

No, we don't.

Our first official date

seems like the fourth.

Shouldn't it be more banal,

more superficial?

I've made an ellipsis.

I've jumped forward three weeks.

I see.

Come back to today for a minute,

and tell me

something about yourself,

as if we were

getting to know each other.

I'm an alien secret agent

sent by my bosses

to assassinate the most important

political leaders on Earth.

You'd be doing us a favor.

Not really.

The plan is to create chaos

and make our invasion easier.

Do you know

how you'll kill them?

I have to think about it.

It's mass magnicide.

And if I screw up, I'll face

an Intergalactic Court Martial.

- What planet are you from?

- One in the ass end of nowhere.

Yes, I know it!

Do you have a girlfriend there,

a wife...?

It isn't necessary.

we're hermaphrodites.

Listen, I'm bored talking about me.

Can I start lying?

Talking about lying,

do you have

a false Earthling identity

so as to go unnoticed?

Of course.

I can't go round saying

I'm an intergalactic assassin.

And what's your cover?

What do you think it is?

You pass yourself off

as a guy from Saragossa

who at first sight

isn't very remarkable...

Perfectly normal.

...with a job he doesn't like...

Frustrating.

...and a social life

that isn't fully satisfying.

Tedious.

Why did you go to the bookstore?

I've never seen you there before.

I like bookstores.

They're magical places.

Yes, of course.

Where you find girls like me,

stirring up intergalactic assassins

with their passion for life.

And that's your cover.

- You think so?

- I do.

Maybe I'm like that.

- No.

- Why not?

Because if you were,

you wouldn't be real.

You'd be a fictional character.

You'd only exist to help me

find a meaning to my life

without caring about

your own happiness.

What a writer friend of mine calls

a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

And what's that?

Something that's hard to find.

- Am I a Manic Pixie Dream Girl?

- No.

That's your cover.

Like mine to conceal that

I'm an intergalactic assassin.

And what am I concealing?

Come on.

I think your heart was broken.

Very recently.

You were left,

which could happen to any of us.

But you feel

as if you've been torn apart.

How do you know that?

Are you all mind readers

on your planet?

Of course.

But, as well, I saw you.

What?

A few days before we met,

I went to the bookstore

and I saw you sitting with him,

crying your eyes out.

And you kept crying

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