Escrita descritiva de dia 27.02.12 - Three men at the Science building's Cafeteria

Two men were sitting, talking, «He is a very powerful man, he owns a TV station, he has lots of money, lots of enemies, but still, lots of power», the chat went on about this man, and the two men were talking as giving serious emphasis to the fact that's how a man ought to be and live. Their posture exhaled importance, but of course, they were just two ph. D. Professors at the faculty of science's cafeteria, two printers that shit scientific papers as a journal prints news about whatever sells. By then, a third professor arrived, this professor wasn't from abroad like the first two of them, this man was more relaxed and the two others knew he wasn't one of the guys, he would never meet the standards of power to which they aspired though they acted already as powerful men did. They could but to greet him, for this third professor was the old and detached from the new ways yet respectful genre, he was from the old era, his golden era, from which his genius had sprung through his mature essays that of course stayed there, in the past.
Hello, they said. He greet them back and sit together. As they were both staring at him, undergoing the mystical effect of authority rather than respect, they felt the nausea, who was he, anyway, but an old man? They were the new brood.
As the old man took his cup of coffee to his lips, he choked on the first sip, he took the the cup down back again, carefully as he could not to make a spill, and tried to contain his coughing that grew sardonically, merciless, close to the sound a choking throat would, yet this man wouldn't choke, he was the deafening screaming of the chalk stick on the board that just won't break.
And so it went on and on, for five exact minutes. It left the two men in an awkward situation, because if they had any chance of bullying the old turd back to his time, such chance was gone, for they were undergoing a new feeling now, he was no longer a respectful old memory of a man that required shipping back, he was a pitiful man seemingly choking to a malfunctioning technique of sipping liquid through a small coffee cup.
It was yet more annoying that the old man didn't resolute between getting up and recovering his breath, or asking any the two of them for help, he just stood there, suffering with manners, making that awful choking noise for five wholesome minutes. He seemed rather focused on restraining his troubled breathing back to normal, and nobody could tell if he did it unbeknownst of the general alarm he was provoking. Nobody in the cafeteria could ignore it, it was the violent sound of choking that baffled all noise around, nor the coffee machine, nor the plates on the dish washing machine would dare interrupting the happening, that man would pass out sooner or later, for sure, though resistant he was, and everybody stared directly onto the two Professors who found their poising skills of arrogance and intimidation rather silly and ineffective. Why didn't they help their friend? Should anybody call an ambulance? One of them tried to approach the shoulder of the choking professor, he gently turned away the help, almost sustaining his last volume of air to utter «No, thank you». He started to wipe his nose, it seemed he did so intending to show he was well enough to start enterprising another feat, but of course all he did was coughing the tissue looking all the more weird and troubled than he was before. The two Professors couldn't continue with their conversation, it had been abruptly disrupted by this pathetic happening that seemed to just linger away, unaware that every happening must eventually como to an end, it must eventually consist in «something that happened», there's only so much suspense a man can take. But the man didn't want their help and wouldn't get up and leave, he was decided to get the situation under control, so the two of them had to wait till he was done with his coughing, or till his heart was done with him.
Obnoxious as they were, they didn't wait and found no other option but to get up and leave. He followed them, almost as if convinced his coughing was normal and that eventually everybody would get used to it and not even notice it, like a man that suddenly grows a third limb and simply accepts its new circumstance. He left the cafeteria next to the two men, he almost crushed against the glass door and almost trampled over his feet whilst walking outside, the two arrogant professors were very raged the last time they looked back before entering the main building and that was the end of it.

Escrita descritiva de dia 02.11.12 - J., C., F.

Era um tipo pequeno, estava visivelmente atraído por J., todos os homens que a viam se sentiam atraídos por ela, até F. Esse rapazito estava um pouco alcoolizado, mas tão importante quanto o álcool, era o sítio onde estava. Quando dizemos sítio, referimos-nos às pessoas com quem estava, e aos costumes associados ao convívio. Como muitos outros, juntava-se à noite com outros como ele pelas portas dos bares espalhados pelas ruas do bairro A., uma espécie de sistema circulatório fechado sobre si, com sarjetas de escoamento para o resto da cidade. Os noctívagos aglutinavam-se em massas escorridas pelas ruas apertadas, de vez em quando passavam camiões do lixo e táxis, coágulos gigantes que espremiam as pessoas contra as portas dos pequeno prédios de dois andares. As ruas fediam a urina, a haxixe, a cerveja, vinho, vodka, lixívia, de repente ouvia-se um cheiro a boa cozinha, haviam por ali muitos restaurantes, mas o resto tresandava a cabelos sujos e a sebo, uma gota de perfume aqui, uma vaga de tabaco a seguir, tresandava tudo aos velhos que pelo bairro se deixavam esmorecer, a mistura das coisas que compunham aquele costume é de tal ordem que por agora teremos que a abandonar, se não queremos perder aquele pequeno sujeito de quem falávamos no início deste parágrafo. Era um tipo desinibido, daqueles tímidos roedores que se aproximam da orla do terreno conhecido e, aventurando o nariz um palmo à frente, vendo que não levavam uma vergastada no focinho, devoravam que nem um alarve um ranço de queijo, regojizando-se com o pedaço mais de terra por onde poderiam passear as patas de futuro, era assim que esse tipo se dirigia a J., porque esta era amiga de C., que por sua vez era amiga desta espécie de rinorreia.

Vendo-se em contacto com uma rapariga tão bonita e acessível, pois eram estes os tratos de J., ela era afável e correcta para qualquer pessoa, o que fazia sentir-se bem vindo qualquer convidado indesejável, o pequeno saltimbanco de cera, aventurando-se a tentar a sua sorte com J., comportando-se como o bobo que era, não o soube fazer sem fazer pouco de si mesmo, e era por isto que começou e terminou a sua investida imbecil com arrogância e falta de educação, «É este o namorado dela?», perguntava ele a C., «Não», respondia ela, «Sim, sou», respondia F., que sem saber bem porquê o dizia, queria brincar com a sua amiga, eram assim os costumes, entrar nas brincadeiras sem se pensar a que é que se estava a brincar. O outro continuava a dirigir-se a C., como se J. não tivesse importância suficiente e que ambos pudessem falar sobre ela e na sua presença, sem a ela mesma se dirigirem. Esta era a sua estratégia para ganhar coragem e figura de parvo o suficiente para finalmente se dirigir a J., «Moras ao pé de mim não é? Pois», sentia os olhos dos seus amigos postos em si, isto transmitia-lhe mais confiança em continuar a fazer figura de parvo, «Dá-me o teu número então», ostentava o telemóvel como quem ostenta um troféu de caça e sorria como quem pescou uma truta de seis quilos.

Durante a sua curta investida, tinha de se mexer muito porque como quando quem não sabe o que está a dizer, tem de dizer o máximo de coisas possíveis, tantas ao ponto de alguém, de repente, encontrar um qualquer sentido no que o primeiro está a dizer. Ai ele irá concordar e dizer que era isso mesmo que estava a tentar dizer desde o início. É notável referir as pequenas manhas destes aldrabões de feira, ele sabia que F. não era namorado de J., mas perguntou-o como quem tenta demonstrar a sua ousadia em mesmo assim pedir o contacto pessoal de J. à frente do seu namorado, uma espécie de toca e foge na cauda do leão, que não era leão, era amigo de J., pelo que a sua ousadia apenas demonstrava que era mais um tipo mirrado, uma espécie de engodo entalado num passeio.