A short walk under a grey autumnal sky. I live very close to the metropolitan area, this long concrete trail that accelerated people use every day. Since I work from home, I quickly lose consciousness of the morning excitement, as if I were living in the countryside, far from urban productivity. The faces I see are concentrated, the eyes already riveted to the bulletin board of things to do during the day.
The shock must still be significant for all those spirits who, just an hour or two ago, were trying to understand the world through their dreams. Sometimes I don’t want to wake up, refusing necessity. The shock is assuredly great, because these days that accumulate, that work, we keep a few traces of them. We always dream of the weekend when we imagine that our real life is played out elsewhere, in a silent theatre, filled with the echoes of our broken hearts.