The horn slit him clean across the abdomen and he watched the bull out of the pass and back to the querencia. The crowd was silent. The bull turned and was watching him, and he felt the weakness in his legs and the strange spilling out of his contents. He caught the intestines as they fell out and holding them back, still holding the muleta and the sword, he staggered towards the mayor’s box. Offal, he thought, fucking offal and at a time such as this. The mayor was standing. He looked up and tried to speak, “Dear mayor, as you see it is no use, no use at all that I continue.” He dropped the intestines into the sand as he fell forward.
This sort of downward spiral of events can happen any night at the tav, though is much more likely on tuesday.
ReplyDeleteTuesday is a special night. I have been there in Fridays and Saturdays, even Thursdays. Tuesday, Tuesday is for a Matador, a Samurai.
ReplyDeleteOnly 2's, 3's, and a couple 4's and 5's here this particular Tuesday night, February 2, 2010
ReplyDelete