El jueves es ambiguo: hay quien dice “¿ya es jueves?”, hay quien dice “¿todavía es jueves?”
Que sea “ya” o “todavía” jueves, el 7 de abril venga tomar un trago con nosotros: corchetes abiertos en via Perugia 41.
Gabriele Cecere nos regalará una prueba de su bravura de calígrafo, habrá vino, habrá algo para comer, y esperamos ¡ustedes también!
“Now we are all here!” said Gandalf, looking at the row of thirteen hoods—the best detachable party hoods—and his own hat hanging on the pegs. “Quite a merry gathering! I hope there is something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What’s that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think for me.”
“And for me,” said Thorin.
“And raspberry jam and apple-tart,” said Bifur.
“And mince-pies and cheese,” said Bofur.
“And pork-pie and salad,” said Bombur.
“And more cakes—and ale—and coffee, if you don’t mind,” called the other dwarves through the door.
“Put on a few eggs, there’s a good fellow!” Gandalf called after him, as the hobbit stumped off to the pantries. “And just bring out the cold chicken and pickles!”
“Seems to know as much about the inside of my larders as I do myself!” thought Mr Baggins, who was feeling positively flummoxed, and was beginning to wonder whether a most wretched adventure had not come right into his house.
El Hobbit, J. R. R. Tolkien, 1937