THE WALKER - going through an unknown city

 So, here I go, walking through an unknown city, opening my way through the masses, and so, as I go along this pedestrian street, I can see that there are some pawns looking at me, others walking their way like there's nothing else happening, and so, as they pass by now, I’m actually studying their faces, analyzing their pretensions… and then, fast-forward, let’s go for some description, I see some man in suits with ties strangling their necks; males and females carrying plastic bags; shemales with indignation on their expressions; men in sportive clothes looking at their phones; young girls wearing vestments that highlight their breasts and ass and bellies, some looking ahead, others looking their feet, some watching the skies, others carrying rucksacks, some carrying extra-small wallets, others carrying backpacks... and so, between these walkers, there are many kind of t-shirts with funny sayings like “Just do it”; “Good girls go to heaven Bad girls go to...”; “Sometimes pretending to be normal”; “I'm not rude I'm just saying what everybody is thinking”; “Not perfect, just limited edition”; “Warning! explicit contention”; “Stop following me!”; “Pizza princess”; “Blink if you want me”; “Obey”; “Too much self control”; “etc.” and so on. Some of them with colorful haircuts, some with sharp hair, some with curly hair, others with no hair at all, all going through. Plus, people waiting in corners, munching, chatting, yawning, some talking on their phones… and me here, looking at them and thinking, “Should I also get one of these phones in order to integrate myself in this society?”; “No”, a shoe-shiner tells me in a corner, “first you should get a proper job, then a proper house and then some kind of wife…” and then, I’m already entering a commercial center, still thinking about what the shoe-shiner just told me. And so, as I wander through the ground floor of this comercial-center, I see a series of stores selling all kind of trinkets, illogic artifacts, and then, in the first floor, it's all about clothes, toggery and shoes, and the second floor it's all about electronics, computers, and tv screens, and on the third floor there are a serie of fast-food restaurants, and so, as I wander through it, I pick some leftovers from here and there and then I’m coming back to the mechanical stairs, coming down, and as I descend, I lean against the handrail of this same mechanical stairs, staring at the reflexes that run through the yellowish waters of this big fountain there on the ground floor. And then, here I’m, already seated on the edge of this same fountain where other people are also seated, alone, in silence... the moist coming from the fountain jets landing on our backs, caressing our nape and scruffs... and then, as I close my eyes and open them again, one man with long gray hair running back, but bald on the top, seems to come closer and closer to me each time I close and open my eyes. And then, he even dares to say that I’m making him remember someone that he has met a long, long time ago, when he was young...  “So very familiar to him you are... you have all the looks…” And now, I look seriously at him. “Even your way of standing, it’s awful, you are pretty similar to my old fella from the service…”; “From the service?” I say. “Yeap, my comrade... he died in my arms, actually... in that bloody war... he was so young... we were young... yes... my old fella, his name was Diego, but we called him...  Dee Dee…” “Diego? Isn’t that Italien?”; “Think so!”; “So do I look like him? but I'm not Italian..”; “You do... the same pointed chin... the same half closed eyes... the same far away expression... the same shabby hair…”; “Yeah, in the end it's all about the hair…” I say. “And you also look like you're coming from some kind of war …” he says. “Do I look like a war victim?”: “You look tired, but proud of your achievements, I can see that... I wasn't born yesterday... I was there in that hell... I looked the devil in the eyes…”; “Sorry to disappoint you, mister... but I myself just born today... you believe or not, I don't know anything you are talking about…”; “No problem buddy, I will no more bother you with this shit war conversation, I just wanted to tell you how you look so much like him... and, we loved him...”; “So you are a war survivor?” I ask. “A victim, actually... a fucking victim…” he says; “But you survived…”; “I survived with a smashed leg, if you wanna know... this thing you see here... (and he is now pointing down to his right leg) This thing is not made of flesh and bones, this thing is made of wax, platinum and screws... that's how I survived, they sent me away, I was no more useful for them, I got a pension, I didn't have to work that much... I went through life with a lot of free time, I had time to think... to overthink, you see... but I'm not complaining now... I have achieved something, just to say, I became a kind of Guro... that's what some people call me…”; “Guro? So you are a expert…” I ask. “Yes, I'm a fucking expert, you can say that…”; “So, are you a war specialist?”; “No, not that shit... enough of that shit I got... sorry... let's leave that for the psychoanalysts, psychiatrists, and psychologists…”; “So, what's your specialization?”; “I don't want to talk about myself, kid, I'm tired of myself, tell me about you, what have you been doing, why are your skin so flaky? Why did you just say you were born today? And were you born with these cement spots on the clothes?”; “No, actually I was born separated from the cement... but got lost in the desert, huge sandstorms I crossed, that's why my skin got flaky like this, you see…”; “Looks thrilling... but which deserts are you talking about, in this world or some kind of dream, kid?”; “I don't know the name of the desert... I was there, and all the spirits came to me. I tried to run away, but the sky was coming down, a black sky full of mathematical equations running at the speed of the light... the numbers changing its form, like in the screen of a stock-market... and I was engulfed by that sky, I was sucked by the tentacles of the big machine, space travel I went…”; “you crazier than what I thought kid, what kind of space-machines are you talking about?”; “Not sure about that, coz when I woke up I was already on the stairs of the parliament, the freedom statue on my left and the democracy lady on my right... or the inverse…”; “Yeah, I see, and did they speak to you, did they whisper sweet word into your ears, or you three went to have a “ménage” at some city park, was it like that kid?” And then, after saying these things, as the man swallows his gasps, a chubby middle aged woman with bulgy black eyes is already coming by, approaching us while carrying some bold shopping bags in both hands and then, straight away, she begins speaking about something she couldn't buy because it was already sold out and now the man stands up, joins the women, and there they go, both swagging, this is, now I can see, one seems to have some kind of deficiency in the right leg, and the other some kind of deficiency on the opposite leg, and so, there they go, both holding the bags on the opposite hand of the affected leg. And then I also leave this commercial-center, I go though some middle class neighborhood, with three and four floor buildings with double-glass windows, and then, as I reach the suburbs of the city I see myself planted under some kind of poplar tree, in front of a huge construction site. And so, there, on the other side of the fence, it's all hustle and bustle, this is, I see men carrying materials from places to places; men operating noisy machines; men yelling to each other. And as I look at all this scenario, I’m actually enjoying it. And then, there I go, already approaching the rusty fence, now watching the working men from a closer angle… but in a while, some of these men get aware of my look, and then, I’m already hearing someone making hot comments about my presence here or there… and so, one of them even comes closer to the so said rusty fence, already asking “Who are you and what you want from here, boy!?” and me, peremptorily saying “Actually I’m this guy looking for work… I can do everything… I'm very motivated and, I can start any time, this is, it can be now, and I don't mind about shifts or how much is the salary… I just want to do something with my hands… you getting it?” and so, at this point, the man is already lifting up the fence and there I go, passing under it… and then, “Barefoot!?” he comments while looking at my feet, and me “What's the problem? Isn’t it the way we came?!”, “That's the way you are actually coming, not the way we came!” he says while making some signals so I can follow him coming back to the working place. And then, in a while, we reach the other men, the ones working up there around a manual concrete-mixer. And so, as I reach the place, some of them even welcome me, but others laugh about my presence there. They are five, or six or seven. Some with hoes in their hands, mixing the heap of sand with the mount of cement.  Others put water inside the mixer. Others filling buckets of ready made concrete. And others, already approaching with wheelbarrows, bringing more sacks of cement, opening it with a jerk and pouring the content by my barefoot while asking me to stand back. And then, “What is the kid doing here?” someone asks. “He wants to work,” some answers.  “Oh yeah!? If he wants to work, let's give him work!!” Said and done, at this point someone is already bringing me a new pair of boots. And I feel happy, as I insert my feet inside those buckskin boots, while hearing some instructions about the job I have to do “The pipe is over there, you should open and close it at our demand…”, the guy operating the concrete-mixer says, and then one other adds “So, you pick these buckets full of concrete, you go through that garage, you cross to the back of the building and up the metal staircase you go… and then, the bricklayer up there will tell you how he wants it, more smooth, more rough, or more creamy, and you have to inform use here, understood?”; “Right!” I say. “So, hands on”, and there I go, already advancing, carrying buckets of concrete up and down the stairs, listening to the men's jocular comments about the weather, but taking it easy, and then making it faster and faster, until they even tell me to slow down. This is, as said, sometimes they want more smooth, sometimes more rough, sometimes creamy, and so, I have to pass this information up and down, like, some kind of messenger…  And as it goes, I see the wall growing, and I think to myself “Yeah, I'm contributing to the creation of something real now… a big house, a big building, maybe a gym, maybe a new commercial center, I don’t care, the purpose is now, not after…” And so, talking about the men I'm working with, their kind of humor, and what we can learn with them. The bricklayer upstairs is already telling me some confidences about his wife, “a donkey, that sometimes stops by in the middle of the road, and there’s nothing that can make her move again”. And then, downstairs, the concrete-mixer operator tells a quick story about a politician that after a scandal involving his personal life, left the parliament and went to a distant country in order to establish some kind of religion based on the belief that we all came from outer-space... and then, the guy handling the hoe, also wants to make some confidences about his wife, he says that she used to sell sardines around, but now, she doesn't leave her bedroom, and so “now I have to do everything at home” he says. “I have to do the cooking, the washing, the cleaning, the shopping, and the bills, It’s me paying the bills… and so, while I’m here, working, there she is, much likely inside her room, watching soap-operas all day, and then, making desserts all night… but on sundays, while she goes to the church, or to the doctor, whatsoever, I go gambling…” and as he says this, the younger boys around are already making some jocular comments about the quality of the meat with whom he is actually gambling. And then, my buckets are filled up, and off I go again. Upstairs, the bricklayer is silent, now concentrated in the plumb bob thing, but the kid, his assistant, has something to say, he also wants to prove some kind of smartness. And so, while I’m wetting the wall, he starts talking about chickens, eggs and gold shops. And then, off I go, already walking through the suburbs of this city in deconstruction.