I
wake up, open the window and breathe. It's overcast, but the air feels just as
heavy indoors as outdoors. I log onto the computer and read the news. Politics,
the market, a new iphone, Lady Gaga’s latest outfit, overcast with 50% chance
of rain, two traffic accidents. At the bottom of the screen, a small,
hard-to-see picture. I enlarge it: an anonymous street in some modern city,
crumpled paper, cigarette butts, stained asphalt. No trees, no shade, no one
walking. In the middle of the empty space, two dirty dogs slouch against a
footstep that looks like the entrance of a store. With the dogs, his head
resting on the belly of one of them and his bare feet on the back of the other,
there's a boy of undetermined age. All three are deeply asleep. The boy has
shaggy, long hair and dirty nails. In a somehow surreal fashion, he's halfway
wrapped in a white blanket with blue stripes. The white still looks white.
Translated by Lina Strenio
Translated by Lina Strenio