sitting cross-legged on the deck, hot on the boards of wood and rough. Under the pier only the water and fish. They are slender and impossible: blue, yellow and orange, larger than the others who live near the beach. The boy calls them Egyptian parrot fish and seems sure of what he says. I trust you. From watch them swim and beat soft against the waves. Expect the thrust of the sea, searching, and when it comes blending fast fins that seem bright wings, running parallel to the crest of the wave and do a little carried away in there. I thought the fish had no feelings, and instead they seem to enjoy. Should I ask for information: the parrot fish are happy or are just trying to eat? I think this time I'll add to my collection of lost time, and while I think I realize that maybe the fish are not playing. Perhaps this constant be slipping away and recover is just their way of living, and between them and me is not that distance then I imagined. We are doing the same thing: we spend our time and we let him breaking the water and air and the wind that I smoke cigarettes. I chat with an employee of Intesa Sanpaolo. She explains that the parrot fish are others, with the nose graze the reef. I was wrong to trust the Egyptian, and now I do not know what I'm looking at.
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