#VIDEOSPEAK FREE#

And what for? To once again discover that even one hundred percent salty sea water doesn’t taste it.

#VIDEOSPEAK FREE#

By the time it had decided a snack would be welcome after all, even though free meals, and delivered right to the nest, scream trap at the bird, Paul had performed five more jumps and reached a nearby forest of maram grass.Ī close call. Having landed right next to a seagull, he was lucky the monster was as surprised as himself. The incoming wave was a very near miss, forcing him to perform his biggest jump ever, back towards dry sand, ad hoc, without the slightest bit of planning. Yesterday, he nearly drowned on the beach, trying to sip a drop of salty water. This football-golf analogy feels badly lopsided, even to Paul’s crisps obsessed mind, but he can’t make it right. Calling that choice is like mistaking football for golf, because, hey, there’s a ball involved, and it’s competitive. The only dietary choice he gets, in this rotten hell of a life, is to have his daily dose of sweet associated with more or less starch. Whatever he chews on, it will always taste sweet. An overdose of sugary, in all imaginable shapes, textures and colors. The crisps muscle back in, now as maddeningly alluring as the salami. A soul can only cope with one existential emergency at a time, and in those days getting laid, or rather not getting laid enough, filled that slot, beyond capacity.Īs hard as he tries, Paul can’t make his mind stay with the fun of having sex. His brave younger self would have known there are no such brands, nowhere, and that he was risking at least his eyesight, perhaps his life, with moonshine. The label on the bottle would have said something like Latvian Light or French Fire, suggesting official if foreign distillation. In his youth, he would have taken a shot of cheap liquor with his beer, to cleanse his mouth. Paul used to order crisps at the pub, to distract his taste buds from the stale beer. Just one tiny blue and yellow, maddeningly overpriced sachet of salt and vinegar crisps. His useless traitor of a brain comes up with salt and vinegar crisps instead. Any gourmet experience is an extra, not the point.Īs hard as he tries, Paul can’t keep his mind focused on the fun of getting drunk. At the end of the day, ethanolic beverages are for lightening the mood and dissolving mental barriers. The taste is soso, of course, but Paul has had enough stale beers and dubious doses of liquor in so many low key pubs, why would he get picky now? Beer, wine, schnaps, yes, they differ, but flavor isn‘t everything. Plums, especially the green ones, deliver the biggest oomph. The same level of inebriation is perfectly achievable, and faster, by having the odd droplet of former fruit. One slice of salami is worth any effort and risk. If there was any chance to taste salami again, just once, he would be prepared to climb the highest tower, and jump. Recalling how salami melts on a human tongue sends Paul shivering with want. Just one slice of this salty, fatty miracle.

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