El negro Nboro del “Tenessee”
Algo especial ocurría esa noche, algo que sólo ocurría una de cada tantas entre las noches de los viernes. Estaban reunidos en el bar “Tenessee”, un antro inmundo y semiderruido, guetto de los negros. No entraban dentro. Muchos se quedaban en la puerta. Se turnaban. Era como un ritual. Cancerberos y almas del purgatorio. Los de fuera y los de dentro. Música negra o jaleo de borrachos. Por eso se turnaban.
Presumía de tener la polla más grande de todos los negros que acudían al “Tenessee”. Y la verdad es que las pilinguis le sonreían de una manera especial cuando pasaba. Por algo sería.
Black Nboro Of The “Tenessee”
Something special happened that night, something that only happened one of each so many between the nights of Fridays. They were reunited in the bar “Tenessee”, an impure and half-ruined cavern, guetto of the black. They did not enter inside. Many remained in the door. They were alternated. It was like a ritual. Cancerberos and cores of purgatorio. Those of outside and those of inside. Black music or commotion of drunkards. For that reason they were alternated.
It was conceited to have the greatest pullet of all the black that went to the “Tenessee”. And the truth is that pilinguis smiled to him of a special way when happened. By something it would be.
Black Nboro Of The “Tenessee”
Something special happened that night, something that only happened one of each so many between the nights of Fridays. They were reunited in the bar “Tenessee”, an impure and half-ruined cavern, guetto of the black. They did not enter inside. Many remained in the door. They were alternated. It was like a ritual. Cancerberos and cores of purgatorio. Those of outside and those of inside. Black music or commotion of drunkards. For that reason they were alternated.
It was conceited to have the greatest pullet of all the black that went to the “Tenessee”. And the truth is that pilinguis smiled to him of a special way when happened. By something it would be.