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MY TRASH PLaNET

©  WRiTER oN THe MoON

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My Hidden Space Artifact in "La Bola del Mundo"

"The 104 neons in the Capitol Building no longer say Schweppes ?" I shot into the air.

The waiter blows us a kiss. I don't know if it's directed at Jeanette or me or both, in which case we'll have to share the kiss. There is a frenzy on the terrace that seems to have possessed the atoms of all these drunk people. When I mention atoms, I become mystical and I tell the lady with very red lips that atoms live a long time and are constantly recycled. I tell her that she is most likely made of dead star atoms and she freaks out.

"What a pussy, Juanjo, this guy says that I am made of corpses of stars."

"Hey, idiot, are you picking on my wife?"

I shake my head. I'm going to defend myself but they interrupt me.

"I am soooooooooooooooo f-drunk!" exclaims Jeanette, possessed by the fifth or ninth Gin & Tonic. She farts from the emotion and apologizes putting her hand to her mouth, and tells me that she always forgets that everything here sounds a lot and that nothing sounds on the Moon.

I look at her in amazement and the rest of the terrace too. I've known her for a few million years and she still amazes me.

"Have some education, my dear," I say holding back my laughter and anger. "A flatulence of yours can accelerate the greenhouse effect in which these assholes are already suffocating. Well, not too bad. You might be doing me a favor. Keep farting darling..."

The woman with very red lips is hypnotized by every word that comes out of my mouth.

"What are you doing, amigo" Jeanette asks. "You give up fast with these little creatures. When you saw that dinosaurs evolved evil, you got fed up fast... remember?"

I stop her inmediately.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

She puts a peanut in her mouth, then a hundred and thirty-four.

I don't like talking about that day and even less with the very attentive woman with very red lips stuck to our story. But Jeanette insists, over and over, with her mouth full of peanuts.

"Dude, it might be the Gin & Tonics that are forcing me to speak, but when you don't like the harmony of your planet, you make a clean slate. Without regard.

The woman with  very red lips is captivated by the story that Jeanette tells. I draw her on a napkin.

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The truth is that Jeanette is not lying: I thought that those intelligent reptiles would evolve in an exemplary way. But I was wrong. The thing went wrong. And so much! How evil they were! Things looked awful, so I asked Jeanette (who was growing what she called Krets (equivalent to a banana with tomato inside) to do the opposite task to what she usually does today (asteroid protection). She caught an asteroid with a gravitational loop and after making the necessary calculations, she accidentally set it on a course against My Trash Planet.

And make it look like an accident ...

Suminasen

すみません

Poor critters!

"Yes, yes... Can we talk about anything else?" I got annoyed by the conversation, asking for forgiveness in Japanese again.

The D.J. begins. Before doing so, he gets three stripes of coke and shouts that Mark Zuckerberg is a tyrant alien who dominates and manipulates everyone with his ads. Everyone cheers.

The woman with very red lips, who seems to be very interested in me, takes my hand and leads me to the dancing floor. Juanjo does the same with Jeanette.

We Dance.

The extremely attractive waiter joins in.

The son of a bitch of the waiter whispers in my ear asking if I'm an artist and I feel a chill. What the hell does he have in its inner structure that drives me so crazy?

Nine minutes later, we are all inside a Cabify heading to Navacerrada because apparently, Jeanette tells me (telepathically), I have spoke way too much talking about my spacecraft that I have buried near the antennas that, ironically, are very similar to the rocket draw by Hergé for Tintin. At 2,265 meters of altitude. I draw the antennas in the air (colors included) and surprisingly they all see it.

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"I knew there was something magical behind those antennas," says the woman with very red lips, who has left Juanjo dancing on the terrace of the Hotel's attic and is now snogging with the extremely attractive waiter.

The driver is not surprised to hear us, he tells us that he has just left some kids in El Escorial who were going to invoke the spirit of the "Niño Pedrín" in his grave. And just before them, he explains that he took Batman, Superman and Flash through Castellana Avenue. Apparently they were going to do parkour recording themselves on top of a skyscraper because their millions of Instagram followers required it.

Batman died that night. Superman also since the guy possessed by the role,  believed he could fly to rescue him. Flash disappeared from there like lightning. The broadcast of that video goes viral. (Mister Alien Zuckerberg takes advantage of this event and hits with evil ads aimed at advancing his malevolent plan).

"It's 64.30 euros," snaps the driver who leaves us in the parking lot of the Navacerrada Port, at the foot of the antennas, called by the locals "La Bola del Mundo". I pay him and he disappears with his Tesla. I am left wondering how much a Cabify driver makes per year to have a Tesla or if the driver is just a prisoner of a mafia.

Silence is DEAFENING.

Madrid looks like a carpet of lights under our feet. It's time to fucking fly.