At four o'clock on the sidewalk. One step after another, rapid and painful, new shoes and the hours spent standing can be felt, scarf and warm winds, now it 's important to let the pain aside and run to the bus stop tram to go home, where it can curl up and whine about myself without words, without explanations and justifications. At home, to pull off the weariness and frustration, to take off these damn shoes and that damn smell of fried food. A light rain
lights all in gray, across the bridge and a fat man in a wheelchair singing their hearts out, immersed in her grief, a terrible-known song, she sings with passion, heedless of the rain, does not ask for small change, there's' no hat timid or jar with a few coins, I lose a few more seconds' peering, exceeds it by continuing to look at it, then speed up, the bridge seems to me very long, the voice out of tune and the music away, suddenly Given that I feel the hand twists the neck take my breath away. I close my eyes and a second deep breath without stopping. Breath. I can breathe, try to focus on something else, and keep walking, ignoring the grip of the throat.
Shy Asian tourists that can not be deterred by the rain, the last stretch of the road tunnel and the bus stop, two minutes pass and the tram. Breath. Really want to take my shoes off and a hot shower. Find a place on public vehicle, but the next stop a plump old salt, can not resist, I give the place, the tram is full, my feet throbbing, I feel cold, and 'full of people, and struggle to inhale air, the problem and 'who are so' bassettina, all these people suffocating me. I think the fat
invalid on the bridge and the involvement that put in its interpretation, eyes closed singing into the microphone stuck in the mouth, indifferent to the rain, and 'carried with the wheelchair, a speaker and a microphone on the bridge more' romantic Melbourne, crying out her grief filtered through songs, singing to himself. I love to sing one of these songs very well known, in English, which I do not know the words and syllables which are not remedied bonfonchiando no word of sense copiuto in any language. I imagine back in time 15 minutes, the same steps on the bridge, the same twinge of pain in the feet, the same movement in arranging the scarf, I arrived on deck, and I see the fat guy who sings strangling the notes, and that I put myself at his side and began to sing with him [me .. maybe no mic], I tune out of tune as they accompany him as I do, and both sing in a fine drizzle and delicate, without being aware of what you dunk in a few minutes. Wrapped in my thoughts
cathartic liberators see that the old lady to whom I gave the place that looks at me without looking up, and I think if you go back to not place him give it up, with sore feet and fatigue that I would she dovebbe cedermelo to me!
Get off the tram, across the road and accelerates towards the door, entered the studio, dark light, the unmade bed, I take off my shoes with a sense of liberation, I slipped off his jacket and sit on the bed. The room - apartment still smells of that night, the blankets and sheets defeats and cold in the kitchen washing dishes.
I put one of my favorite songs, strictly in English, turn up the volume, and I'm in the shower hot and [pathetic but true] singing out loud, thinking of the fat invalid, the old woman from the look rude, in my nearly 29 years, life-world and tuttol'universo that accompanies me. And I sing ... loudly ... Now
breath ..
0 comments:
Post a Comment