there’s nothing sadder than the streets of this town, filled with old people turned beggars, ragged children shivering at street corners on crisp summer mornings, people fighting with themselves on the sidewalk or simply lying – eyes staring blankly – on a bench in the park.
leaving home every morning, you get lost into this labyrinth of pain and hopelessness the city has turned into (or maybe it’s always been like this?). silhouettes standing still at bus stops, or hunched up in a corner, nibbling on some loaf of bread that’s turned gray, writing crooked letters on cardboard signs or sinking into a drunken stupor.
I’m not talking about those who beg and follow you up the street hoping that their badgering will make you let slip some cash so they would back off. I’m talking about those who don’t ask for anything, who merely sit waiting for something that cannot happen too soon. and slowly, as time passes, their faces turn to stone and their eyes cover with dust, their limbs froze half way through a gesture, and one day they’re just dusty statues that no one notices anymore, limp caryatids and atlantes glued to the walls of old buildings, slowly disintegrating inside a cocoon of street noise, smog and indifference.