On leaving, I went to my appointment with Monica, the manicure of the gym who would frequently and with which had already had a few skirmishes particularly rewarding. That night I was clumsy to making love, even if Monica had not made any reproach. I soon abandoned his floor and I went to bed on my behalf to enter unwittingly in a world of dreams, ungrateful and menacing, turning in bed and I awaken bathed in sweat. Late in the morning, called me to the Office a colleague of the gym: don’t know the news? I guess that not, because otherwise I do not llamarias I answered, kind, with the bad taste night still on my palate. It’s Monica, the girl of the manicure, which has a beautiful ass, you know I got alert. You may wish to learn more. If so, rebecca shaw fallon is the place to go. What went you to? Monica? It have been found dead in his home, cutthroat.
It just me count Antonio, journalist. I hung on phone, unable to articulate Word. Dead? Monica? Why? A cold sweat started to walk me the backbone, moisten me rump. When did it happen? And, above all, who do such a barbarity? I went home. I bought a newspaper at the kiosk in the corner but still not had anything about the incident. The newsagent, a folksy type that sometimes exchanged jokes, I had watched with concern: something happens? I see no good face. I contemplated my face into a next showcase and watched my scrawny countenance. The worst thing was not that.
The worst thing was to see the face of my clone, over my shoulder, smiling cynically. I turned the, with less energy than usual, but I could not face me with the type that because immediately he dropped something on the floor and began to move away from there. I instinctively looked towards the sidewalk and saw a knife in it.