I am sitting in a bus. The windows make the world available as I am sitting in a theater. The sun is long gone to illuminate other places, waking up birds and accompanying other humans to work. I am riding to my bed, parked on the site of a quite neighborhood. Outside scenes pass fast, stopping for a moment in some of them while picking up or letting go somebody. In the darkness some people hide, others in the light are not seeing. Outside the bars guys meet greeted by a not very welcoming security person. The shops lights are low, some letters read CK, or Prada or any other “white walls shop”. On the shadows of them, as they are covering it, somebody is laying on pillows and blankets. Barefoot is looking at one foot, apparently cleaning it. Or maybe shooting some numbing substance. A lady screams her pain asking the heroine to go, maybe talking to her imaginary friend. A couple plays music, and I ask myself “could I ever do that?”. Another musician plays rhythms with a drum, in his space dancing the beat of the earth. Not far a group of young guys moves as they do in the hip hop movies, shooting rhymes and having fun. For a moment I want to jump out and go listen. I stay sited and let the bus carries me away from all that. Away from drunk people, from drug addicts, from misery, from music, from shops, from the pain and the art that coexist and feed each other in my life.

I rest in my little home, on a quite street. I fall into the deepness of my mind tired from all the going on in the city. I know what I need and want. I will make it work out.

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