Pánico y Chow-Fan en Manchester por Juan Faixal / Panic and the Chow-Fan at Manchester by Juan Faixal: 1

Knife slices the air, every spoonful of rice is a bundle of nerves. It's asking yourself: whether only for being paranoid one escapes the bullet? It's to struggle to hear the whisper and to fail miserably. But this is all just a cliche: it's Tarantino's movie on a giant screen, the switched off ceiling fan. But maybe just revolving really slowly, with it's flat top. The popcorn is here. Everything is just fine.

burshtina 21.03.12 в 11:33

The price was not bad: ninety four pounds with a drinks included, a culinary heaven if you consider that for days the only thing you eat were sandwiches and chips. The bloody chips that they put in every fucking edible dish in this island. It was three minutes to five and who would have thought that at this hour the client is no longer right.

burshtina 21.03.12 в 11:40

And here we are: eating in silence, exchanging glances. They are surrounding us, with their modern looks and perfect hairdos, the kind that takes time. They're all wearing black pants and white shirts. They are watching us, exchanging remarks at the language that we, of course, don't understand. That evokes the feeling of persecution, harassment. Sleep deprivation and fatigue don't help as well, but there is something imperious and bellicose in their intimidating tone. They don't answer to us clearly when we're asking them something - they don't like us to talk, and, no, they won't bring the napkins.

burshtina 21.03.12 в 11:55

I can hear the key turning in the lock, my eyes confirm my ears: they are locking the door. I'm thinking about the life I've had, reminiscing swiftly all those moments: the good, the bad, the ugly and the rest. It wasn't so bad, maybe a bit short, but definitely entertaining. After briefly surveying the table I can see that the rest are thinking the same: there's nothing worse than being forced to go before your time and moreover this miserably.

burshtina 21.03.12 в 12:07

I'm trying to finish my spoon but it seemingly decides to live forever. I just want to finish with my plate and leave. I will try to avoid any visual contacts - this would only piss them off, and we're definitely don't want to risk it right now. There's a little rice left on the plate, but I won't tell. I only remembered rice because of in what a terrible mess the table is. It's not that easy to eat under such a pressure. The plate is mostly empty and it's time for us to go.

burshtina 21.03.12 в 12:15

The moment of empathy reigns over the table - we all know what could happen to the lust ones to leave. I gaze at my friends and we're starting to stand up. Someone should ask for a bill. I'm inhaling deeply, clearing my mind and raising my hand. I have no last words only theories as to how this would all end.

burshtina 21.03.12 в 12:20

It's nineteen sixty tell me, I pay twenty and they give me change. They open the door - we are free.

burshtina 21.03.12 в 12:22

We are moving away quickly - so happy to be alive, humiliated by everything else.

burshtina 21.03.12 в 12:24