While The City Sleeps

Unfold along parallel streets to major streets in groups of three people with a thermos of coffee or hot chocolate and snacks. They crouch in corners and in unlikely places for a chat. Social volunteers come as blood to the wound and know where to find them under old boards or on a blanket and shivering. They call them by name or nickname for a family, as did their mothers or best friends. While warm hands, just wrapped in faded mittens, exchange information of the day. Do not use prepared statements, but ellipses and suffocating monosyllables with eloquent gestures and his silence toward oblivion. To each is given their time, you want or need. It says something caught in the transistor or browsed a newspaper page brought by the wind.

It may be international policy blunders of the G8 or the housing scandal. The homeless, are marked by the ephemeral. Do not hold too much because there's no tomorrow, and yesterday is included in the bundle of life. Alcohol and snuff, endless walks through the open veins of the city at dawn or aimlessly in search of food, keep them in a cloud, without noise. Missing mental health centers, many chronic have been lost.

How birds fallen from nests, injured in their wings or calloused feet. Lost their jobs, victims of alcohol or drugs, as outgrowths of a ruthless social body with unproductive. Victims blame for something they have not managed to integrate into outside themselves. So, try to melt into the shadows of a rootless society, almost crazed, who deserted the streets of the city to fall asleep.

Comments are closed.