Torro was unlike his mates. He was not excited by those of the boys' games that favored the hesitation of choice in them. What he was fascinated with was having a purpose for himself. He excelled at going towards the goal, rushing to the finish line and blowing past it, tearing the ribbon apart. He was the winner, and the world treated him accordingly - he'd always be in the hot spot of attention. Why was he like this ? Probably the adrenaline rush. Probably the ego. Probably the taste of the fruits of fame. Probably all together.
Bruna lived for today and now. She did not hurry - why rushing past ? It's like going on the express train through the summer forest - all you get is the branches hitting your face and the locomotive smoke. Jump off, close your eyes - can you hear that nightingale ? Wait until the tar dissolves and fall onto the ground - can you smell the strawberries ? You may have forgotten it - because none of the supermarkets can recreate this smell, no matter how hard they try. It dies off as soon as it hits the civilization - getting yourself out of it is the only way to experience it.
- "Hey, Bernie, check this out - "
- "What ?"
- "The news says, down there in Europe, they've forbidden the bull fights"
- "Did they allow the bull fights to begin with ?"
- "Yeah, looks like they did."
- "That's silly. Torturing the poor animals."