I wonder what people are doing at this moment when someone plugs in the machine that is giving me the last play of the game. A guy shoots his gun at an old woman because she had a wallet full of buttons, and a teenage girl has her fetus snatched from her stomach. The right midfielder takes the umpteenth shot of the afternoon and the center forward heads the ball in, giving his team the title after many years and a banker jumps off the 400th floor of a Wall Street building and his briefcase goes through the floor. And at that very moment the girl whispers in his ear that she will never leave him and a boy takes his first steps and a homeless man freezes to death while another finishes a box of red wine and a mailman takes off his shoes because his feet are full of blisters, and while all this is happening and the hands of the clock are moving, I wonder, are people doing something, maybe putting cream on the coffee, wiping the shit off the pigeons with a handkerchief, letting the cheese rot in the refrigerator, letting the water boil, lowering the train barrier, and the soda loses its gas because they forgot to put the cap on it, one grabs his head because he forgot the keys in his lover's house and another sucks his finger because he crushed it with the drawer of the bedside table and at the same time a couple in love chooses "Lovers Rocks" by The Clash as "their" song. Why does water get you wet, why can't you hold on to walls, how, how long and why do fingernails grow, do dogs dream in colors, how does a gong fit in the trunk of a car and who the fuck ever saw an Axolotl?
YOU ARE READING
I.C.U
General Fiction"Debbie Harry and Kurt Cobain; Luca Prodan; a city that burns; a freckled girl who leaves; a war on a mysterious island and a cursed writer are the flashes that run through the mind of a teenager who suffered a motorcycle accident."
