"I want to stop so author."
Hey. Don't stop. I make sure the story is interesting. I understand. I also do not like to read stories that grievance of an author or the story about the greatness of a writer or similar to it. Definitely boring. Like hearing an old long hours discussing the experiences of his youth. Like hearing a mother's praise of his cuisine is just a matter of being able to make a hard boiled egg. Very boring.
The core of this story is. ..
Ah, if I tell a story and starts with the "bottom line", then I am not a speaker of good stories. Anyway I have never made the core of the story, if that question is theseven-eight words or four sentences from the whole story. Though only 1,500 words, I can't imagine fiction could be made the point. UM, I have experience. The first time I asked about what "Face", I confidently answered about retaliation. Arriving at home I am sorry. The story was not about revenge. It's about the history of the country. What? It is not. It's about racism, eh, about family relationships, about the activity of the city .... Finally, when one is asked for the core of the story, I read the whole story.
So, should I just start from the beginning.
The setting of the story is a cafe which allows the dialogue felt intense. This means that the Cafe was not too noisy, but also not too quiet. A cafe in Bandung that location on Jalan Asia Afrika. Cafe that occupies a stylish building Indisch. Large Windows. Large doors. High ceilings.
Two stewardesses had just finished the last seat of the table degrade. Sky also recently rained. Of the twelve sofa stuck in the walls and near the window, a set of eight chairs in the middle of the room, a new half filled. The day has not been dissolved. Azan night just override the background music in the Cafe was.
"I want to stop so author."
Well, from where it comes from.
The woman's voice softly but repeatedly saying for over 10 minutes, the equivalent of one fifths of the round "Kind of Blue" which vaguely sounded from loudspeakers.
"Excuse me. .."
The woman was sitting alone on the couch red curved glass stuck in the window, and from there he could see people passing by. Cup of coffee has yet to touch. He also did not hear "excuse me" that's been said to be a man for the second time. He recently tengadah when the bass thrumming slowly disappeared. The woman moves her head not because of "excuse me" but to withdraw his coffee cup from the table.
"I'm sorry. Shocked, huh? "
The woman shakes her head, "what is it?"
"Can I sit here?"
The woman's eyes narrowing, look around. The male hand holding the same cup that is on her desk. Pictorial coffee cup of dry twigs. The second base of the eyebrowsof women approaching each other. He barely shook his head.
"I want to ask."
"Ask?"
"Iya. Why do you want to stop so author? "
The woman's eyes glitter balls reflect the rays of light that highlights from the ceiling. "Please."
Hey. Don't stop. I make sure it is another matter. This is not a cheesy love story or are a little bit expensive. I know that you have in your mind. From the opening scene like it's as if You can guess the end of the story. Women and men meet in a public place to begin a story of romance or a romantic comedy screenplay for the movie Holywood doubtful, in which the female half drunk. They tell the story of each and then they meet again, may intentionally or unintentionally. Then some time later they arein a relationship, then there's a little bit of conflict, but then there's a match. And then happy ending.
Not like that.
"What is it about being a writer?" The man was sitting on the opposite side of the female. There were wrinkles in the shirt that he wore at the bottom, a sign that formerly plain shirts that are incorporated into the pants.
"You sit down with me and start with the question. It's a bad sign. Not for me. For You. "
"Oh yes? I am ready. "
"You menjebakkan yourself ...." The woman was no longer semuram the clouds late in the rainy season comes. His eyes flashing berkali. The reflected light makes the eyes it is like flashing.
"I am ready."
"How much time do you have?"
"Whatever is needed to answer the question."
"Wait. We listen to it briefly. It's part of the whole composition with dominant Miles Davis blowing .... "
"You're a musician or a writer?"
"Shh ...."
The male menyenderkan his shoulder on a couch. Eyes closed. He attempted to capture the sound of the trumpet among the clink of cups and plates, between voice chat-like buzzing bees, among the sounds the Horn and exhaust.
"You don't enjoy it huh?"
"I don't understand ...."
"This is not a monthly report that must be understood. Enough.
Nonsens
4/
5
Oleh
Syaf
