the hot green was just hanging on by its teeth

 

“It was a hotel near the top of a hill, just enough tilt in that hill to help you run down to the liquor store, and coming back with the bottle, just enough climb to make the effort worthwhile. The hotel had once been painted a peacock green, lots of hot flare, but now after the rains, the peculiar Los Angeles rains that clean and fade everything, the hot green was just hanging on by its teeth—like the people who lived inside.”

….

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Charles Bukowski,  primeiro parágrafo de The way the dead love, in South of no North, Black Sparrow Press, 1973

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Uma resposta a the hot green was just hanging on by its teeth

  1. i love ruins, you know?
    my dream, which, by now, ain’t nothin’ more than a flow of words and an image, used to be a house built after, over, a ruin of another, i mean, keeping the solid stones and walls kept by the years and then, fill it, make it grow again, born again, i can see, still can, those walls made of strong glass, and

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