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...Mark walks down the november streets with a liquor bottle semi-wrapped in a paper bag.
The rain makes the paper get stuck to his hand; the rocambolesquely lit groceries shop's employee sees him pass by, slowly, behind a pile of cheeses...
Tuesday.
The pastel colors of NYC in the cold months it reflect on his encapsulated leather jacket...only a loser, the crap of the society can wear such jeans: the black canvas trainers get more than humid along the dirty but wet sidewalks that Mark walks everyday...
It's a prodigy the fact that Mark obtained the unemployment benefit, but prodigies happen: only in NY...
One of the prettiest cities, specially for someone who only can have peace of mind among the chaos, the neurasthenia, even the menace, like Mark.
Like me.
Because the most wonderful things of NYC are its tall buildings, its cellars, its stairs; subterranean galleries and sex shops...
Chains, electric blue neons and its twilights: pastel that go sinking itself into a heavy black.
...The heart-robot of the city when it screams.
It screams in black.
And for the unexpected...
Sunday.
...Do you know what is like to be devoured by the pain slowly?
By the indistinct feeling that your life it's a meaningless, useless...nothing.
"You're an idiot an' a loser, if you wanna get your fuckin' share of blood in this jungle of vampires, you got to put your balls on the table, and hammer 'em down...you got to cut your own jugular; so do it, do it now! Now..!"
The TV shows are so depressing...the food is like a raw dough of wheat, water and salt...it's raining and mom sleeps, but not deeply enough to steal her the pills.
It's sunday. 11 pm.
For God knows i'd like to die tonight. I'm so unhappy...
Friday.
If you didn't born and live all your life in a huge city, you don't know.
You don't know what is like fall asleep under those lights that never.
End.
Fall asleep with the shining of oceans of cars and crowds under the sun all day.
The shining in your retinas, yet. Since you born; yet, yet, always...
You had to born there to know.
A sunny day: veteran/neurosis of war.
The NYC streets are long, i can't live without my city: she's my chains and my liberty, because her streets never end: you're free only where the streets never end.
That's the only reason why: the immense city knows her sons, and protects them under her immense wings. Like a huge, pervert heart. Without ask a question.
Now, in the still of the night, i got a question to ask you...
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