The place is such that enliven the evening with a pianist. The first series of the piano was nice and nothing else. The second reminded me of a story with an old flame, and for those who live in Madrid (and you have a certain age), a dear old place that no longer exists. The piano stayed awoke a little souvenir. I do not know if many remember Airplane, a bar, almost mythical near the Plaza Manuel Becerra, closed a few months after I moved to live in Barcelona, \u200b\u200bthat is, a little over a decade. It was a dark hole and rundown, characterized primarily by two aspects: the carpeted floor of the sunflower seed shells that the house served for free with all drinks, and his pianist, almost as antiquated as local, that was entertaining evenings playing ballads and tangos. (Shortly after closing local pianist died, say that nostalgia.)
was there one night I received the praise / compliment more fantastic than I have ever spent. I was with someone I loved (and who then was very dear to me)-the same as the dedication of Nobody is perfect, a book of interviews with Billy Wilder gave me, was able to write: "Nobody is perfect, but you make me doubt." At one point I left the table to go to the bathroom when I came back he said, "you're not going to believe, but the next table (where there were two mixed pairs) told me: 'Congratulations, girl who is with you is precious' when I asked him to wait for you to come back and I told you in person, he answered me: 'I'm telling you, because the merit is yours for having conquered' (perhaps the words were not exactly that, but that's what I said unknown).
My companion was flattering in nature, so while I expected it, gave him little credit, thinking it was a story he had invented for me to make me feel good (or even better, because well, very well, I felt). .. until "the table next door", which should have captured part of our conversation, he decided to interrupt to corroborate what I told my companion had happened that way. I have not felt so flattered in my life. That night my contribution, which by then was very high, up several points, as no incentive both to appreciate what we have, like the fact that others appreciate or envy ...
memory mechanisms are unusual, I noted something about it in other entries, but the truth is that this memory almost forgotten has returned to the beats of an old sentimental ballad - Killing Me Softly with His Song - played by a pianist unknown. The only song that the pianist peculiar Airplane, which was very much his own, agreed to play one night (other than the one I mentioned) at the request of a customer (the same as that other night), that asking for his girlfriend (the same as that other night).
above is very personal and maybe a little sappy, I wrote last night, although I polished a bit today. Something must have to do with it, the bottle of wine that we drank side by side, four and four Limoncina Carajillo ... but it's funny to post it here as you read.
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