I live in a city with happy people but I cannot touch their happiness.
I live in a city with people that get married and celebrate their union at the posh restaurant that I glance over the street, on Kings Road in Chelsea.
I live in a city that autumn suits it best.
Garden, parks and alleys are polished with gold and I look at them petrified. I like statues. They are like me.
I live in a city with happy people on whose faces are pains and they walk brisly to work and never stop.
I live in a city where time passes by quick.
People got a ball that they don’t want to drop. In a crazy rythmn they pass it to each other. The ball is wearing out and is getting smaller each day. The ball has disappeared and people are mute. They need to create another.