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Updated: May 9, 2025
Conducted as if by wires along the heavy air comes a guitar's tinkle, and the demoralizing voice of some senorita singing: "En las tardes sombrillos del invierro En el prado a Marar me reclino Y maldigo mi fausto destino Una vida la mas infeliz." The words of it they do not understand neither Toledo nor Memphis, but words are the least important things in life.
In the distant vista, might be seen a part of the crowded promenade, where music held its court; whilst at intervals, a voice's swell or guitar's tinkle would be borne on the ear.
He notices that his shoestring, to the left, is dragging onto the wet pavement like broken strings of a guitar. Passing an alley he envisions her there to be grasped like a guitar's case; yanking the instrument from its case; and letting his tongue strum. He feels incontinent and he notices his erection. He imagines her without ablution, naked to smell, touch, sight, and taste.
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