Now, as I open my eyes, here I’m, under this platform, this viaduct, this kind of bridge, whatsoever, and then, after jumping off from that balcony, there I go, already advancing in between the cement pillars, say, presently bypassing some kind of trickles, some king of pits on the floor, and further, soon becoming aware that I’m not alone here, this is, as you can see, there are others... immobilized there next to the pillars… quaint figures stretched out on improvised couches, divans, broken sofas, cradles of rubbish, etc. And, as I pass by on their side, say, I even come to notice that despite some of them having their eyes open, or half-opened, they do not seem to get aware of my presence, this is, as I go through, they do not look here, I mean, they just keep staring up, to the ceiling, this/that leaking platform, and actually, while looking up, some are even grunting words that we can’t really understand, snoring, or, just silent… and, as I go through, in fact, I do not dare to approach or disturb them, this is, I just keep advancing in between the pillars and, while advancing, I’m also passing by some mounds of rubbish, some sculptures made of scrap metal, etc… and then, while I actually go through this confuse curtains of smoke I even come to hear some kind of regurgitation noises, like a battery-operated radio buzzing, rippling around a detuned station… and so, as I pass some more mounds of trash and then this upside down car carcass, in a while, I’m already reaching the soft bonfire apparently the thing responsible for the curtains of smoke I have just passed, and thus, here now, in front of this so-said bonfire we actually can see this old man with this sort of orangish beard, here squatted, apparently touching the embers with his own bare hands, rearranging them, and well, while doing this, he is also whispering some soft words in the direction of this very fire, pouring some kind of pots over this same embers, and let’s say, in the meanwhile, as he actually notice my presence, instantly, he tries to pass me one of this pots, but, as I try to hold it, this thing is so hot that I spill all its content over the fire and, well, as this content(liquid) actually impregnates through the coals and embers the smoke quickly begins to spread around, becoming more and more disturbed, and, as the curtains of smoke extend, we can also hear some voices, some complaints coming from both sides of this bridge, this is, one side I see this figure with a big hat actually turning around the piles of trash, letting out roars, and on the opposite side, I also envision this figure actually pulling some sort of supermarket trolley, and, let’s say, as this figure advances through the curtains of smoke, again, we can hear that noises like a battery-operated radio buzzing, rippling around a detuned station… and then, as this two figures get together, two more figures are actually approaching them, this is, one trying to steal the content inside the trolley of the previous one, making some kind of percussion on its metallic grill, and other, actually playing some sort of untuned harmonica, dancing around, and so, as all these figures intermingle actually going through the curtains of smoke, disappearing and appearing, the guy here by the fire, now, he also stands up and there he goes, actually running in the directions of that same said figures, this is, also going through the curtains of smoke, and so, in a while, all the four maybe five, are actually fighting or doing some kind of dancing together, I’m not sure what it is, and as this happens, they are also emitting some sort of onomatopoeias, I mean, nothing understandable, and me, well me, here I’m, still by the fire, actually staring at the reddish embers, blowing on the smoke treads, and then, this is, I also stand up, rubbing my eyes, and there I go, but, not approaching the brawling figures, actually moving onto the opposite direction of the curtains of smoke, I mean, by now I'm in fact leaving this queer encampment, already going down some kind of slope, passing some more mounds of trash, and further, there at the bottom of the slope, I'm actually having a piss over the herbs just on the side of this kind of creek… and well, as I stay here pissing on the herbs, I’m actually watching the spectacle of the tail-wagging mallards floating over these sludge waters, this is, some of them are now coming out of what once were ordinary household appliances, rusty corpses of old refrigerators, stoves, microwaves... all now being disintegrated by the acidity of these muddy waters… and thus, while standing here, looking at all this, I may say, this whole scenery gives me some sort of joy… some sort of happiness, this is, somehow, it fulfills me, and, I don’t need to know why, nor I don’t need to tell you more about it, this is, then, as I go down a bit further, getting closer to this mirage, there they go again, I mean, the black mallards actually with small white patches on their necks, now passing on my side, and so, in the meanwhile, as I see them softly sliding away, there are also these chirrups, say, chirrups from birds I actually can’t see, though, when I pucker my own lips and begin mimicking their melodies, in a while, here they are, even replying with more praise and exuberance on their chanting, but, times passes and I still can’t see them, this is, despite the soft tremor of the shrubs and brambles down there, on the other side of this brook, I still can't see that damn birds… thus, actually, I can’t really understand if they are really truly true, or, in fact, a mere representation of my fertile imagination, yeah.
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