-If you lose the next match, we'll be tied.
-Ok, ok. But I won't. You are way too bad to catch up.
-Nah nah nah. That's what you think. Choose the team you want, it will make no difference.
Fridays by a place we don't own, yet we act as if. I reckon it is at times a bit embarrassing. However, the moment I set myself into the game, I stop minding the crowd, the clerks and the guards' frowns upon us. I comment, push, shout, suffer, celebrate and get angry during every match. It matters not how many Fridays I find nothing else better to do, and how much friends, family, acquaintances and strangers say I outta buy a console, and how productive I could be if I was elsewhere - hardly is there something else which cheers me up as this.
-Pony dares go foward, faces opposition, so passes back to Ludueña. He doesn't have enough control of the ball, has difficulty passing it back to Ruiz, so the team in blue regains control of the ball. Maxi tries to filter the ball to Chaco, but Santos recovers the ball.
Supposedly, I got better things to do. My mum never stops thinking about the time I purposely, although she doesn't know it is all on purpose, waste in front of these familiar objects and people, and in front those eyes full of strangeness that pass by without my noticing of how they look but how they look at me. I care not though. The moment is my ally. The utter excitement is the means and the goal. My raised voice tumbles wildly, so my day seems complete, my existence lighter, my levity softer, my immediate future brighter, and my idiocy just an awkward dream. I own myself at such moment inasmuch as the images whizzing to the beat of my heart are real, while what's not is a mere illusion. How can I tell if the world is there when this overwhelming scent of a feeling is all I sense?
-You should've been there! You know, there's no one like me there. He was far from getting me. You mightn't understand the anger at the game, the joy of winning and the frustration of losing, no matter how many words I use, cause you weren't there. It was… it was simply beautiful.
She believes I exaggerate, everyone thinks that I exaggerate. A perhaps I grant them. Yet, in an empty life on a rotten planet, this may get through for the window of my sight reaches not anything beyond those four edges which limit my imagination.