"on the lips colonel. now or never." / sur la bouche, grand chef. maintenant ou jamais. (lucy in the sky / as cool as i am)

Grizzly Bear, Angus & Julia Stone

Anna Valenn, Le Blog

Je ne fermai pas les yeux, ça aurait eu l'air trop bête. Mais je regardai mes pieds, pour lui donner une chance. Il m'étonna en allant très vite, comme si c'était un gage dont il voulait se débarrasser. Un petit bisou sur la joue. 

Je battis des paupières.

- J'ai pas été claire quand je t'ai expliqué que j'étais pas ta mère ?
- Quoi ?
- C'est comme ça que tu embrasses ta mère. Ou ta soeur.
- J'ai pas de soeur.
- Kenny, embrasse-moi comme une femme.
- Comment je suis censé savoir comment une femme embrasse ?
- Kenny !
- Tu prétends être une femme maintenant ?
- Je fis les gros yeux.
- Sur la bouche, Grand Chef. Maintenant ou jamais.

I enjoyed every bite of As Cool As I Am, Pete Fromm / Lucy in the sky, traduit par Laurent Bury pour les éditions Gallmeister, également en format poche TOTEM - Dans une petite ville paumée du Montana, une gamine de quatorze ans est livrée à elle-même. Un bien joli roman triste, ensoleillé par la personnalité vive et attachante de Lucy.

I didn't close my eyes. That seemed too corny. But I looked down, giving him a chance. He surprised me, moving fast, like it was a dare he had to get over with. A peck on the cheek.

I blinked. 

"Did I fail to make it clear that I am not your mother?"
"What?"

"That's how you kiss your mom. Or your sister."
"I don't have a sister."
"Kenny, kiss me like a woman."
"How'm I supposed to know how a woman kisses?"
"Kenny!"
"Are you pretending to be a woman now?"

I glared at him. "On the lips Colonel. Now or never."

CONCENTRATE

Banana Pancakes, Jack Johnson 

en V.F. chez GAllmeister : ICI

At the grocery I told the guy in the white apron that I wanted oranges, boxes of them. He rounded up a couple of baggers and we filled the back of my little wagon. Cheap as they were, I was still about cleaned out at the cash register.

The man in the apron wanted to know what I was planning to do with all those oranges. "You can't freeze them," he told me. 

"I know," I said.

"Making marmalade?" he wanted to know.

"No," I said, "that's been done before."

"Well what are you going to do then?"

I smiled at him, sweet, and said, "None of your beeswax." Tommy giggled.

Riding home, the three of us cramped in the front seat, the whole car filled with the smell of those oranges. It smelled like a vacation, like Florida or something, and the kids were excited and laughing all the way.

I rumpled up Tommy's hair. "Running away!" I said. "Where'd you ever get an idea like that?" But he was embarrassed about that now and wouldn't say a word. He just pretended he didn't know what I was talking about. I never once thought of running away. But now the idea was there - foreign, but bright kind of, and shiny, like that of the smell of all those oranges, and I knew it wouldn't get away.

reading Dry Rain, Pete Fromm (Chinook, trad. Marc Amfreville, Éd. Gallmeister) - more later