In Milan there is the fog. Thick so thick that you can not see even more puffs of smoke come out of the mouth. I leave the meter with the torrent of the 19 people, and makes me laugh as we all follow the same path in an orderly, who goes out to those who enter right to left, and there are nearly parallel paths in these dungeons. Outside the Chinese dismantle their stand of interesting clothes, and I tell you, they make sure that overtime. Then find the 90 hot hot and I get on. The 90 is a very interesting place. Much more interesting than the 3, too dude, too many people going to work in a suit and tie. On 90 there are all the others, however. There are Arab women with strollers and a big boy / girl that holds them by the hand, there are groups of boys who work in an unspecified site near the metro, there are old ladies with shopping carts and we are working girls but no suit, there are also some students and aspiring model. There are the guys willing to push the trolley when it stops in the middle of the road (obviously not Italians: the Italian men in situations seems to dileguino, disappeared). I am in the middle, stuck as best, which ultimately is not the 90 that it is precisely the point. I do not have time to think, in the midst of this bedlam. Jumping from one to another commitment and I can not seem to know more the girl who spent long afternoons reading and was also the time to be bored.
0 comments:
Post a Comment