Quentin Kung Fu
Quentin Kung Fu
Initially, everyone called him Quentin, logic is his first name. Then it became "Quentin No Evil" for certain (because the question "are you", he always answered consistently "pretty") and "Kung Fu" for other, more and more numerous. Funny how a simple nickname can synthesize the drift of an individual facing the world. Now, it's called "The Pylon," often because they do not even know he had a name one day.
Quentin is the guy who did not drink and did not smoke when he arrived in the big city. Now it catches up to everyone, not to say that was squarely over-the-top: consumption of Teusch sufficient to repay the debt of Mexico. Never mind the rest. Nothing extraordinary, but quantity XL. On a balanced psyche, it can go, except that Quentin, his thing is not to have a balanced psyche or life if only one-third normal, to meditate alone and do kung- East fu master. Ash has been falling slowly in autism stupefied, without understanding what was happening or be able to do much, what do you want to do when a friend goes with you, are edging into the couch like a stiff lying eyes and stays there stationary for hours, smiling a little now and then just moving the fingers to roll? Pilow Vox and attended the same kind of scenes, which passes with Quentin Teuch, the whole night to say a word every hour that passes if another asks' How are you? "He says, still on the same tone, day after day, "not bad", before re-enter inside ....
One day, Quentin became tej kung-fu: too violent, too stoned, too upset, he removed the jaw to a guy. It was a little surprised everybody, what if his usual Zen. As part rolling of firecrackers, it was about his only social activity, he was able to work extra hard on meditation. Well, it took thirty kilogram in recent years has not changed for ten years gabardine, goes every Friday and Saturday night in the same bar where he speaks to no one and stands beside a pillar, until closing, beer after beer, if someone asks, "are you". Is he really say shit in the glue, both where he slipped into the pad of hair babes in this house-birthday-two-days-sleeping-in-place and they took him out as they could, he has crossed into the wild with a gun what was hanging over the fireplace, the name of god, how fucking scared, do not speak to me again never again this type is how you end up cutting himself off from everyone.
Stare, lost to the world, no friends, never had a chick. The pylon.
Once, a gang of neusk went into the bar with their marcel marquis, a tattoo artist who's farts because it was decorated Jean-Paul Gaultier once. There were only Quentin alone at the bar for once. Quentin is the kind balèze to look ultra-hard, normal, look in the other world, then Touintouin, King of the needle, went to see it to drink, even the arms-stretched-to-Europe »are in when they get bored easy. Except that Quentin, he not want to be fuck when he looks behind the veil of Isis when he mug in the throat with two fingers, looks super-fixed and said articulating well, a weird tone schoolboy reciting a poem:
- It's Saturday night, I came alone to drink a beer, then I want them to let me drink my beer alone.
And his eyes are so cold and hard, his hand clenched so that the other answers "yes sir" and breaks with his clique, because this fucking bastard, he made them afraid.
It's like that, Quentin, since he has more friends, no life, nothing, just a raincoat, the same, always, he reteint black from time to time.
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