LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION.
WHO: Tincho and the Invisible Man Matthew, duh.
WHEN: Monday afternoon. (July 19th)
WHERE: The sexyfine streets of Liberty.
WHAT: Is this a movie? A bad one?
The first thing Martín thought was that he hadn't woken up that morning, and was in fact safe and sound if not uncomfortably warm underneath the covers. Only that would be a terrible, terrible shame as this dream - hyperealistic as it was - was still rather mundane and a lot like any other Monday. For some reason even here that strange man named Maradona-that-was-not-really-Maradona was still sporting the holiest, blingiest cross in the history of ever and jogging after him in an embarrassingly small speedo. Who would dream of that, honestly? He could've at least dreamt about an attractive man following him around. Or a woman.
So the second thing Martin thought was that he was high as balls with selective hallucinations, and only ended up at the same conclusions as his first thought.
And the third... well, he looked around carefully, eyes narrowed into suspicious slits as he tried to locate huge stage lights on the street or a film crew trained on the young man walking toward him. Because, you see, he was lit up like a Christmas tree. A Christmas tree in Vegas with NO VACANCY.
Had he wandered onto a set?