Here is the real book that started a year ago and still have not finished XD if you like I will upload more chapters ... but they do not XD
The Zombies ate my neighbors (provisional title) Chapter 1
"Madrid. August. Forty degrees in the shade. Relative humidity: one egg per cent, which makes the feeling of shame is even more unbearable. "I thought while I had the cigar in his mouth. It was so hot that smoke overheated that it aspired seemed refreshing. Meditating about nothing in particular while frying me sprawled belly up on the roof of my house. Searing was two hours long and lying there by forced marches dehydrated with a fixed idea in my mind: "want to get home and move out of the room, I'll put my furniture in the freezer." And really I was dying to do so, at that time was the most important thing in my life. Only a tiny, insignificant detail prevented me carrying out my duties: for that would have to move. And the only movement that was willing to make was to take the cigarette to his mouth, now that he thought wardess a while off, though I stubbornly continue to provide deployed from time to time, through sheer inertia. I relished my mind wandering, when a face appeared at the window blurred. I blinked a few times to hydrate my suffering eyes and looked again. It was my father. He stared at me mosqueo face and said - Bla bla bla blabla blablabla! I returned her gaze and, after a while not knowing what to say, just occurred to me: - Va. My father disappeared. Thanks to the Buddha was right in the response. Five minutes later, my body decided it had been roasted enough, so he got up and slipped through the same window that had served my father to look out. Once inside, down the stairs, entered my room, closed the blinds so the sun does not give the pain in the ass for the sacred siesta, and jumped into bed, thanking Allah for the air conditioning. After twenty minutes, my psyche took example from my body and floated up to my head, inside my room. nap because I remember I remember that I dreamed, and I remember because I remember perfectly that I dreamed the dream. It was about Diplodocus pastors. And it went a motorhome square wheels. Three hours later I awoke to the unpleasant, grating and always ringing my phone wrong. I think I called someone to tell me something. If I do not remember is it was not important. While my brain links recomposed them their own, the ideas flow back to the bottomless pit full of shit that is my head. I remembered that he had been in Alice's house stop by to pass me some notes about something ... I do not care much for them to be, selectivity prospect again this year too. It is not my fault, I would consider, but there is always more interesting things to do: tell gotéele stains on the wall, dancing naked a paper on the head ... there are many distractions! After a brief shower, got dressed with the first one I found lying on the floor of my room: baggy jeans and a shirt with a picture that is better not to describe. I put in the bag wallet, mobile, rolling papers, snuff, a china, condoms ... everything a person should normally take over. I went out. And the sun hit me that campion that still hurts. Tollin was a friendly, the kind that are usually accompanied by a "bastard, which would never call me!" For a moment, I valued the chance to take one of the umbrellas crowded into an old flower pots near the door (which once housed a ficus of biblical proportions) and use it as a parasol. I dismissed the idea immediately, something else is going to be hot and looking foolish. When I reached the bus stop, I collapsed on the bench metal, shattered by the epic one hundred meters down the hill he had just done. To celebrate my feat I smoked a cigarette. Beside me, sitting with his face to be stupefied, had a grandfather-type with the whole team: the beret, his cane, slippers around the house and the radio blaring. "Riots in the center. A group of radicals takes center Madrid, destroying furniture and assaulting passers-by "the announcer said something through the old grandpa-type transistor. "On the Buddha!" \u200b\u200bI thought. "If you're going to riot, do not do an August 5 at four in the afternoon, with all the sunshine." - Hey, son, was the grandfather-type, and referred to my "What are you doing smoking ? You smoke filling the world and the lungs of people, what you hope to quit smoking? "I put her wrinkled hand on his shoulder, for some reason, had bandaged. - A United States to sign the "Kyoto Protocol"? "I said while withdrawn gently (and with two fingers) his paw on me. Old raged. Like my answer would have blown up some strange mechanism within the machinery of the old man, he rose and began to curse him. - Bla bla bla! Bla bla bla respect for elders! Bla bla bla in my time bla bla bla! For my part, I did not hear him as I got up and took a couple of steps forward, by the end of the street and approached the bus was not going to lose because of a row with an old stereotype. If it had happened, would have had to wait an hour until the sun came next. And an hour the sun in August is a long time. As I climbed the stinking bus, filled to the brim with sweaty people, the old man continued screaming and raging. Had already paid the bill and was about to find a seat, when the old man grabbed my leg. I turned and there he was, lying on the steps of the door, panting and looking at me with a face that would have frozen my blood if I had not smoked that joint with my brother before leaving home. A quick, involuntary foot free kick with my grandfather made the guy let go and fell back onto the sidewalk. The bus driver, who had seen the scene as it approached the stop in its tracks, closed the door and asked me how he was. A couple of grandmothers-type, sitting in the front seats, and had only seen him herding the viejuno-sadistic (former grandfather-type), began to gossip about the youth, who has no respect for anything or anyone. At that time I had a reply almost as good as the "Kyoto protocol" but I kept quiet. An old murderer a day is more than enough. 
