Week 134 of our regular morning feature here at Friedman of the Plains Worldwide in which we highlight the great words and works of great men and women, as well as those who are insufferable, delusional, and even fictional.
This Week Lídia Jorge
"But there are nights when the husband doesn't arrive at seven, not at eight, or nine. And if she doesn't arrive at ten, she knows she won't arrive until dawn. That's why the crucial time of the doorman's life happens between five and seven. It is within these decisive minutes of the afternoon that the day and night of the doorman is dictated. The doorman at five to five lights the candle, puts her hands asking him to arrive before dinner. It's a pain if he only comes at dawn. She hears him touch, after going up, open the elevator door with difficulty, leave there slowly with a stiff foot, and then the key begins to fall near the door, feels it lift it off the floor, he must be turning the key, until finally he sticks it, the wheel, detaches it, takes it out, stays inside the house and the house fills with his breath to the basins and windows. Stumble on the sofa in the living room and call
- Lucia! O Lúcia! — Marido e Outros Contos ("Husband an other Tales.)
Bonus Jorge:
"He would be fine with a verb. An action that begins every morning with the smell of bergamot, linden, cedar and peony. A perfumed verb. A verb, like laughing, flying, running, talking on the phone. A mixture of all those verbs is one." —Misericórdia
Youthful, jubilant verbs!