look at the people walking next to me. We seem to trip so close and fast. We all have the same brisk ride and move in sync as a school, even if no one laughs and no one speaks. We are polite to strangers and keep our distance, although there are touches elbow to elbow. But it is permissible to look back with each other. I try to guess the faces over those shoulders swaying, as well as backpacks and crocodile bags. It is an end in itself, I'll never have confirmation of my fantasies. We are all shadows read. Workers and shop assistants and students, nurses, businessmen, housewives, dentists and bricklayers. All I glide by as the wind and do not affect me. When you arrive at the front of the station are always too many people wanting to cross. We lined up on either side of the road like armies ready to fight, on the one hand who has just got off the train, the other who is quick to climb. The traffic light is red and we look in the face. A shear our eyes flash and stun the cars in the race. When the light turns green, but often even before the shots started to move from their meeting locations. I see them getting on compact appearance and impact. I squeeze his back to absorb the blow and look at the track. A small surplus for waste not to obstruct the paths of my fellow anonymous fellow sidewalk. Look impact el'urto never comes. The warriors of the two sides will run towards you shove one into the empty spaces left by others, the row is fringing. There are intertwined and we go past. I have left the exchange on the wind.
0 comments:
Post a Comment