Trip n. 1

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Click. In front of the theater a child's face looks amazed at the puppets, the eyes wide open, the lips curved in a circle, the chubby hands stretched towards the puppeteer to get one of the characters as a gift. The wonder of children is like a man in love with the moon. You'd like to say to him that he'll never have it, but who has the courage to break such a big dream?

Click. On an amaranth wall covered of graffiti there's a couple of teens, embraced with bodies and eyes, the elusiveness of the first love merged with the signs of a timeless artist, the two biggest shouts of protest, colors and a kiss.

Click. Cars pass in strips of yellow and red lights in front of a man sitting on the sidewalk. He's dressed like a foreigner, he has a foreign suitcase beside him and, like a child greedy for breast milk, he's desperately attached to a bottle of wine, while around him the world swirls too fast, unstoppable, helpless, perhaps indifferent.

Click.

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