April, 21st 2011Story ContestElísabet Iglesias Cano2º C (Cal) Jurgita − Put me another “hottie”! (He hits with his glass in the bar while he makes a rude movement with his tongue) − My name is Jurgita. (She responds serious) − Your name is “hottie” or like I want to call you, bitch. Have you come to my country to tell me how I have to call you? Hungry bitch! Jurgita swallows her anger and gives him another drink. She doesnt want problems. It´s her thirdnight working on the Ipanema, an old bar whose appeal is just the name. She thinks of her son andher gaze is lost for a while. − Thats better “hottie”. Do your work and shut up. (He continues looking furtively) Jurgita turns around and starts to clean the bottles. She doesnt want to see the face of thatunhappy pig. She can smell his acid breath, it is repugnant. Distressed she out of the bar and goes tothe table where two old men are playing cards for hours. There isnt more customers. The coffeemachine and the air vent made more tolerable the tense silence. She starts to pick up the pistachio shells on the table and one of them holds her handtenderly. − Dont worry. He barks but no bites. Hes a fixed customer. If you need the job ignore him.Hes bitter.Jurgitas eyes become glazed and with a weak smile she thanks the advice. She goes to the bar again. She begins to wash the dishes. The water and the detergent odorcomfort her. Blatantly the unhappy pig looking at her ass begins to do stupid howls. Jurgita turns off the tap, she dries her hands and looks at him strongly: − In my country, pigs dont sing like wolves.