Esco, pretending to use the phone to avoid the eyes of others, the office where I am. Outside, the sky became completely gray, light is halved. Only a few brave white flash still seen among the clouds low and threatening. Untied from the pole to which the bicycle was tied, over a meadow and fallow, now resigned to being the mud for a long time. The rain of recent days makes it more difficult, although there un'odore spring that still lingers in the air. Mixes with that of the time by rain. It makes me laugh, and I happen to think of it often. I step on the red bike pedal sent between the drab apartment blocks. Been converted into offices, and I see people in front of the computer or in front of endless practice, with tired faces, invariably under the bright lights neon. However, this would be the pedestrian zone, and I know, but I continue to pedal at speeds higher and higher. I like to go fast, and I would say that I like even bicycle racing. The latest grind tens of meters in seconds and go down the descent, which leads me to the road. Instead of slowing down, I go even faster. I realize this is insane, but I do not care, more I do not have that much time to think. Ali, you've got it written on the feet . Exactly what I feel in the pedals and my legs. Ali. Needless to say, I do not feel fatigue. I'm wearing only a shirt and a short scarf. The wind does the rest. know what you are, you become a star . I feel completely master of every single thing. I do not know how many miles I'm traveling anyway, certainly not enough for me time to stop and no stop and no intersection. Fortunately no damage. The scent of rain mixed with that of spring and continues to accompany me back a few days before. My bike on the porphyry, the white houses of the center. A shiny gray station wagon driven by a woman. I I move to the side of the road. It has the windows open. I know a song to his most famous title as well. All the way to Reno . Fixed the car dazed. The owner drops. A lady of about forty, who flaunts his wealth. I look away, I will not let me out. Meanwhile, the sky became darker still. Gray blue. Threat of rain, but I feel that it does not rain. As it does not rain inside me. And 'as if this spring was taking around everyone except me. I feel her presence, her smell, and its colors. The sky protest, and even buses full of people with coat and umbrella stand perpetually wet and slippery in wet subscales. But no, I have recognized, in the spring. I've seen in my town. The instruments to invade the streets, in bars with tables outside, in the smile of people walking, even under one umbrella. No, not rain. How not raining inside the mind of anyone. And the cold has gone away. No, not rain. And tonight I'm going to listen to jazz in the square.
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