Sidewalls Page #3

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Really? I'm in a weird mood,

I don't know why.

I didn't know you write

Me neither.

Until now.

I've studied theatre for a while.

Should I tell you about it?

It's called "Cruel Woman".

There's a swing on stage,

the protagonist

and seven Dalmatians.

So the audience listens to

a monologue with headphones,

and what they hear are

her thoughts.

She's planning

to kill the dogs' owners

so she can keep them for herself.

You like it?

It sounds good.

I'd have to read it.

I act in it.

You're the one who

walks the drugs?

- "Walks the drugs"?

- Did I say "drugs"?

Good one!

I'M GOING HOME.

Don't get any false hopes.

It was just sex.

They sprout out of the cement,

growing where they shouldn't.

Rising up patiently

with exemplary will and dignity.

Without lineage,

wild, unclassifiable by botanists.

A strange, rampant,

absurd beauty.

They adorn the greyest of corners,

don't own anything

and nothing can stop them.

A metaphor for uncontrollable life

that paradoxically forces me

to face my weakness.

I'm Marcella, a psychologist,

and my job is my passion.

Calm down, I won't analyze you.

As a rule,

I don't analyze friends.

To be honest, I'm very selective

regarding friendships.

I write a lot

and love self-help books.

Gender:
female. Age: 31.

Marital status:
single.

Children:
none. Religion: Buddhist.

Not a drinker. Occasional smoker.

University degree.

Languages:
French, English,

German, Italian,

Portuguese, Greek,

Spanish, of course,

and a bit of Russian.

Hobbies:
alternative music,

jazz, blues, Latin American,

disco, 80's, electronic,

pop, rhythm and blues,

rock, classical,

theatre, ballet, travelling,

yoga, meditation,

movies, shoes, cars, motorcycles,

working out,

writing, cooking, Internet,

water sports,

nature, politics, charity,

wine tasting,

mountaineering, shopping,

tarot, an,

martial arts, tai chi chuan,

I Ching,

feng shui, astrology, New Age.

No, I'll listen, but I don't speak it.

I understand everything, but...

I don't speak it.

No, seriously, I speak it poorly.

I don't like hearing myself.

I have no control.

I say what I can instead of what

I want to.

Well, you speak it.

Your French sounds French.

These dates are like

McDonalds combos.

They look larger and more delicious

in the photographs.

Every time I go on a date,

I suffer from the same deception

as with a Big Mac.

No, nothing at all.

No more, thank you.

What were you doing alone in Paris?

Oh no, that's a long story.

But I can tell you how it ends.

We separated at De Gaulle.

Yes, a 13-hour flight

is too much for a couple in crisis

Luckily, we both had

our own luggage.

We divided up our goods

in the airport.

He kept the shampoo,

I kept the conditioner...

We split up the few things

we had in common.

He went to Berlin,

I stayed in Paris.

I cried for 24 hours

and that was it.

Everything alright?

Should I buy you a water?

Nervous ness.

I'm nervous.

I need movement.

Want to dance?

I have a great need to communicate.

For example,

if we'd met here by chance

and you only spoke Italian...

But let's say

I didn't understand it.

I would have lost the opportunity

to meet a very beautiful person.

What did you say?

Look it up.

Bloody bastard!

How can you be so stupid?

Bye, Sus. Come here,

I'm late. Bye.

This is the 15th time

I've signed up for swimming

and the 15th time I won't go.

I love swimming, but I hate

everything before and after it.

I hate showering before

and after.

I hate getting undressed

and dressed,

drying my hair in the winter,

a wet towel in my bag,

a wet swimsuit, wet flip-flops...

I hate the smell of chlorine.

I hate the membership card

and the medical examination:

Having to show someone

what's between my toes.

I hate that people

piss in the water.

I hate caps and the amazed

expression goggles give you.

And what I hate most is the fact that

it's the most complete sport there is.

Tired?

Are you tired?

You have to kick less.

Legs consume more oxygen

than arms.

Kicking is more for stabilization

than for propulsion.

Stretch out and relax your legs.

When your hand goes

into the water,

stretch it out, feel the impulse

and the other arm follows.

Your hands under your body.

And lower your head. The water

should be up to your forehead.

You're doing 32 strokes.

Try what I'm saying.

You'll do fewer strokes

and tire less.

You'll swim in a more relaxed way.

And try breathing every third stroke.

Go ahead, I'll count.

- May I?

- Yes.

- And?

- You were right, I'm not as tired.

and you can get even lower.

- Are you a teacher?

- I'm a compulsive swimmer.

I can't sleep if

I don't swim an hour a day.

Really? Exhaustion from swimming

is unrivalled.

Yes, nothing else tires me out.

- What's your name?

- Rafa. And you?

Mariana.

What's it, a**hole?

- Let me past!

- Go ahead!

- You're a clown!

- What the hell are you doing?

Idiot!

Always the same! Screw you!

Don't touch me! Don't touch me!

I still have 30 laps!

I'm a member and I paid my fee!

- This is supposed to relax you.

- Living healthily is stressful.

Being conscious of everything

only to live a bit longer

is the worst thing we can do.

None of us come here for fun

We come to count laps.

- Why can't you sleep?

- I thought you'd know already.

There's no switch

to turn off my head.

- Have you seen a psychologist?

- Yes, I am a psychologist.

So swimming is the only thing

that works?

If I could,

I'd swim to my bedside.

'28! .very good!

Tomorrow I can't swim

I've got patients until 10 p.m.,

so I won't be able to sleep.

We could go and eat

or drink something.

- Shalli put you to sleep?

- On the contrary.

What a relief. Then yes.

Let's take off our caps and goggles

so we'll recognise each other.

No, I'll come like this.

It doesn't matter, I don't care.

Everything's alright.

The brilliant morning light

let me see the reflection clearly.

Late, as always,

I realised it was me in the window.

Like a mannequin.

Motionless, silent and cold.

SPRING AT LAS:

Absolutely all of the buildings

have a useless, purposeless side.

It's neither the front nor the back:

The medianera or "side wall.

Enormous surfaces that divide us,

reminding us of passing time,

smog and filth.

Medianeras

show our worst attributes.

They reflect inconstancy, cracks,

provisional solutions,

and the dirt we sweep under

the carpet.

We only remember

them in exceptional cases

when, during bad weather,

its ads filter through.

Medianeras have changed

into another medium for ads

that are seldom beautiful.

Generally,

they indicate how far we are

from supermarkets and fast food.

Lottery ads that promise a lot

for little.

AVAILABLE:

Recently, they've reminded us of

the economic crisis that left us

unemployed.

There's one way out of the oppression

that results from living in a shoebox.

An escape route:

Illegal, like all escape routes.

In clear violation

of urban planning norms,

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