03 Dezembro 2015 | 17h01
He sat there quietly, contemplating the city’s view from high above.
Panting, I opened the old rusty door and approached him cautiously. From a distance, I asked: “what are you up to?”
“I guess what the birds enjoy about flying so high is the sound of this solid, never-receding wind. Its steady and soothing melody trumps every other sense, don’t you think? Only up here. It sets you completely free, like a relaxed drunkard — no future, no past, only this. Should I have a pair of wings, I wouldn’t be down there crying all day in my crumpled stinky room. I would come here alright, pal, before sunset, every day, simply to listen to the blowing wind”.