# 1.4 Rrose Selavy
As he approached the sheltered housing, step by step, he felt the ground more and more slippery underfoot, as if the chipped plaster and flour the years had been deposited in a uniform slippery surface.
all'androne came up the building. A monstrous
Aztec mask of names and surnames was a pillar near the entrance that overlooks a courtyard, beardless grass, sparse and yellow. There was no one to not make eye contact, and after remaining for a moment do not look that sad lawn, the slender figure with long coat walked up the stairs.
Rrose's father was a prosecutor. A man from another time, a high forehead and Socrates, the nose fine and straight and blue eyes like ice, paralyzing. It was a powerful and influential man, and after a moment of opposition to the artistic aspirations of her daughter, so far from his view by the legislature. He did not hesitate never to bother friends and confratevolina, caught between its many knowledges to get him a good tip-off, the right address where to go, and always new material for a career as a freelance photographer daughter.
had called that morning to half past nine. Still seemed sleepy and felt that he was eagerly pulling the filter of a Marlboro, sitting in his chair precious style "new empire". He told her to take pen and paper because a friend had given the police an address. No chance of reply.
If you had to be a photographer, would be the best. This father thought, he knew, and she asked for nothing better. Four
flights of stairs, no elevator.
The first port of landing. The hinges hung
maimed and they witnessed his entry in the apartment while she went over the entrance opened. Inside
obsessed with only the sound of a refrigerator against the low ceiling and beaten irrequietentemente heels of a cop on duty.
The body was hanging.
Hung. The lance
murmured, like a dirge, a people who could have done it and did not believe, put their hands on him and the son of a bitch. The military was just a boy, a novice who was arguing with himself, indirectly, to give himself courage.
Rrose when she saw the black raincoat and wet hair weights of water, he simply at him nervously nodded his head, probably thinking it was part of the scientific, not asked, nor any proof of identity that. The body
pedeva.
Hung.
chain end, the chandelier is attached by a carabiner, not swinging, but argued that body flesh above his image reflected by a low table with glass top shelf, from which a pool of blood not yet entirely coagulated, s 'fed wound clear, cold, with which the murderer pardoned this broken body.
A thin line, straight, long white throat. A perfect smile
steel that encircled the neck and adorned with amber tears, the last paid by that body condemned.
Rrose put his bag on the floor. He pulled out the machine, its goals, the flash and left everything on the floor next to where.
The cop was leaning against the wall, next to a print, a reproduction of parchment paper on a Dali painting. He stared for a moment, intrigued, and the soldier turned his head, embarrassed, blushing a bit '.
The body was hanging.
Hung. The angel
architectural Millet. In
knee Rrose thought to light, blinds closed. He took out both flash.
The bastard was not spared.
meat and muscles exposed. Not an inch, a second of suffering spared.
Blood glistened like caramel on the flesh below, crystallized as a memory, a sheath of life fled. He had not a spare inch of pain, he had skinned alive.
The expression of amazement that he was impressed cheekbones live merely confirmed that his diagnosis as an amateur. The terror she felt even closer to the butchery was its confirmation.
Churches to open windows to cop motionless, still pressed against the wall as a building architectural angel, but, shaking his head the cap said that in no way could contaminate the crime scene.
Rrose shrugged and continued to ignore the police useless.
must have been a beautiful woman. The circled.
Flash! Then another and yet another flash.
He did not need to instruct his model because his death was already perfect.
tense muscles.
Hung. Outline
overexposed in a perfect contrast of death.
Flash!
The severity of the stretched muscles still not fully taken up by the rigor mortis called a graceful figure, noble, sharp cheekbones and strong jaw and muscular of who knows what he wants.
Flash!
Another image in the gallery of horrors ended and the mechanic was taking Rrose insensitive.
He rose from his knees aching. The
cue from his father, as always, was correct.
would send a few e-mails, talked to some friends put the flea in the ear a few journalists. The well would have sold those pictures.
He threw the bags over his shoulder and waving lazily walked to the door.
It pinned the name on the moleskine Luise Salomon.
was back on the dingy landing. Mats of woven straw and written welcome discolored.
Near the doorway there was a pile of dark hair, bristle. Hair of the beast, perhaps a dog.
Without thinking he took a handkerchief and picked them up making them disappear in the pockets of the raincoat along.
was out. Out of those prefabricated walls. The wind in my face was pleasantly cool, while the invigorating beat in the face.
He put his hands in his pockets and walked, shoulder bag, this spring tired, that never comes.
