The square and the caravan 
Shatzy returned home that was five in the morning. When he went to bed with someone, then he hated to sleep together. It was ridiculous, but he always found some excuse and left. He sat on the steps, without entering. It was still dark. There were strange noises, noises that you hear during the day. As bits of things that were left behind, and now they were busy to reach the world, and arrive on time at dawn, in the belly of global noise. There
always something that gets lost in the street, he thought.
end up in a bed that you've never seen before is like traveling. There and then it's all a great effort, even a little ridiculous. And 'looking after, when I look back. It 'nice to have it done, go around the next day, clean, neat, and think that the night before you were there to do those things and say those things, especially say those things, and one that you will not see.
not usually saw them again.
I stop, she thought.
not end up anywhere, so.
would all be easier if you had not taught this history go somewhere, if only you had been taught, rather, to be happy standing still. All those stories in your way. Maybe instead we are made to live in a square, or in a public park, still there, to go through life, maybe we're a crossroads, the world needs that we still would be a disaster if we left only at a certain point, on our way, which way? are other roads, I am a square, do not carry anywhere, I have one place. Maybe I join the gym, he thought. There was one nearby that was open in the evening. Because I like to do it all night? He looked at his shoes and bare feet in shoes, and bare legs above their feet, to the edge of the skirt, short. Stockings, silk stockings, he had crumpled in the bag. He could never rimettersele, when he got out of bed to get dressed and leave. He was reloading the gun after a duel. Stupid. What about Old Bird? You also puts them back in the holster discharged, your guns, after firing? The crumpled and the screwdriver in your bag? Old Bird. You'll die in a beautiful way.
He thought to come in and go to sleep. But in the light of lanterns you could see the trailer, still, resting in the garden, a bit less yellow than usual. Once a week, washed thoroughly, even the windows, and the tires, everything. By dint of seeing her there every day for months, had become a part of the landscape, as a tree or a bridge over a river. Shatzy knew it all of a sudden, in the dark of night to an end, with stockings and a whore in the crumpled bag: still, sparkling, amber was not something that was waiting to leave. had become one of those things that have as their stay, hold the roots of some piece of the world. Things that, when you wake up or return, have watched for you. It 's weird. Are we going to look amazing gadgets to get takeaway away, and then held them close with a love that away, sooner or later, it becomes too far away from them.
Bullshit, it's just a matter of finding a car, he thought.
City
Alessandro Baricco
