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Margarita.

prologue to the history

Hehe ... a womb ... yes of course ... makes perfect sense ... if your name is Salvador Dali and six doped up to peyote. (I have no proof that Dali did use it, not that he needed, but the simple creativity was nothing compared to the surreal paradox when I'm moving.) I have a twin brother, who still lives in the womb of our common mother , and at this time fiddling with a minibar.

Andy: You want a margarita?

I, peeled, raising an eyebrow: Because, you know to prepare?

Andy, smiling, making shrug: No

I, sadly: Let me double

Andy: We want the oil?

Me: That goes into the martini. In only margarita tequila, lemon juice and triple sec.

Andy, beaming: No I've got

: What's the matter?

Andy: Olive

Me: Let me double

came to me with a cocktail glass topped with an umbrella and two straws. It was full of olives. Ascoli. I drank without batting an eyelid. Edge is unbeatable. In chess, mostly. Andy did not, then took out the chessboard and the pieces arranged by accepting the challenge. That game of chess was a metaphor of my efforts to convince him to leave. And the first move was up to me.