and the sounds are fading away, colours in the eyes of a man drunk of life. He
drops the bottle and
Or maybe it’s just a car passing with weat wheels. Now that sounds are different, steps passing between the air and the street, forgotten raindrops and cigarette butts. The concrete speaks in a voice you cannot expect. It’s a black caterpillar, passing through the street, caressing the trees and now have some new music thanks to this feet. Concrete has a rough bass voice, now more than ever. It seems like some big monkey slapping the sidewalk as it was a wall, with force.
Plus that certain difference made by the splashing water around.
It’s easy then how the owner of this gentle, silent steps is feeling, right now. The doubt, the fear even, that he can feel through his shoes. The same shoes of whom, in his wallet, has more truth than between the walls of his own conscience. The steps could even pass to be coming from one person only, covering the other completely, a long shadow of sound on the desert sidewalk. A big wave, able to transform everything, even the golden sand of the sea.
Behind the shoulders
Right now we’re not at the sea, but in a grey city. Right after the corner, even the lights got scared and disappear. Only two brave street lamp are still there, warriors of light tall enough to watch a giraffe in the eyes, watering with light the dark grass all around. It’s an invisible getaway point of the fading images in the darkness. I feel this man-of- tomorrow tries his best to yell, but instead of a scream he just
He makes a
nervous cough, nothing more, behind the wall built up before the larynx.
It’s pretty much it, what to do against the drumming feet behind? That monkeys don’t stop a second to slap the sidewalk, while I’m just more similar to the tapping of fingers on the school desk. Perfect, you won you crazy monkey- feet!
One in front of each other
The steps suddenly stops and for the first time S. dares to watch behind his shoulders. There is a shape, there, made flat by the light in that spot. The monkeys are in reality a man, standing as a big stone cut in two by powerful legs. A giant that makes cinema- like smoking clouds. A hat is pulled over his face, giving him an even more frightful appearance and cold blood inside this poor S.
After he lost his father, his soul and the last chance to find out where it was disappeared in a morgue, what could go wrong again?