The cabbie I was tuned to a radio station classical music. Vivaldi’s ‘Primavera’ was playing, whose beats matched my mood, rather elated, and with the brightness of the day. It was eight in the morning and it seemed that we were opening the world. At this, the driver looked at me through the mirror.
-Have you noticed that I listen to classical music? she asked.
“Sure,” I said annoyed. I didn’t feel like talking.
-And you are not surprised? she insisted.
-Why would you miss me?
-Because of my appearance. I don’t look like I listen to the classics. Notice the ear piercing, the nose piercing, and the tattoo on her neck. would fit me more rock or raphe does not believe?
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I answered reluctantly.
Actually, I had thought about it, but hatred made me contradict him.
“Well, I don’t do anything but think about it,” he added. I hate myself for not listening to music that corresponds to my aesthetic. But I tried to listen to another one and it bores me.
“I don’t know what to say to him,” I tried to conclude.
The man looked at me spitefully. He expected me to take sides for or against his dilemma.
Do you have any contradictions between their way of dressing and their musical preferences? she hammered. He wasn’t giving up.
-The truth is that I have no musical preferences. Sometimes I like some things and sometimes others, depending on the situation, I suppose. As for my clothes, I don’t waste much time choosing them either. I wear the one with which I attract the least attention.
-Are you a little neutral he stated with an expression of disgust. He is not one of those people who take sides.
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-The truth is that no -I dispatched to annoy.
The man turned off the radio, fell into hostile silence, and began to drive rather roughly. I arrived at my destination a little dizzy and sorry for not agreeing with him. I usually give it to everyone, except when I wake up euphoric. Euphoria is not a good counselor