Way out of control of my feet. The legs move driven by something that is not my brain. In the same direction, like home, but cmoe if I was driving my insconscio. I know where to go but not me who decides how to do it. Macino distances fast, jumping from one platform to another while avoiding obstacles. I feel a few feet from the ground, there, close to the hood covering the gray sky. It seems the water in a pot about to boil. A street full of steam but that does not overflow. My nose ice from the air January, however, reminds me that my body is anchored to the ground. But I do not feel I can, as I was moving in that age gray perennial boil. Way bold. After all, on the one hand the feeling is absurd, the other makes me away from the blank faces of people I meet. Do not record them, just some common. I do not know if they have a story to tell. I can not keep them in mind if I look away. The only thought I can make you concretrizza when I look down. Innumeveroli cigarette butts thrown on the tarmac, but only half finished. A pity. However, had arrived in the fall. Then the winter. I know that. But I seem to have realized only now staring at the cigarette. I feel a kind compassion. It will not smoke for a while '. And I feel the need. Between my feet and winds the uncontrolled desire for nicotine. But what takes me where I'm going? I just feel my frozen nose. It occurs to me, looked up his name. I do not know what he is doing. According to normal thinking, or nearly so. But soon I wonder if he has never felt so at least once. Thus, at the top. I realize that my security is a fleeting feeling. Third thought. Stroncante. But where is my head? Maybe I have the fucking time ago.
