The music is Blues,
reminding her where she is lost.
A ROOM FOR A DECENT
BURIAL OF MEMORIES
BY MARTIN FOROZ
She comes to the room, sits on a blue stool next to a so-called bar and gazes with blue eyes at the blue Hawaiian cocktail. The room is lit by blue lamps. She curses: damn it, even the walls are blue. And the music playing is Blues, reminding her she is lost.
She looks around, finds it, the navy-blue painting of the navy yard in an indifferent blue sea where her no-longer-seen father was luxuriously lost too. She looks at the painting and at the same time, in her mind, she follows some verbal traces of an individual who is speaking in an endless delirium at her death….
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