I want to be a marble faun at the foot of the fountain in the heart of the market of the town where life swarms. Instead I sit on the steps of that fountain squinting at the antsy rustling around me, grabbing my bottle tighter.
I have since recently fallen in love with that marginally overweight businessman gulping from his pocket flask while waiting for his tram because I love the expression of fear in his face that I know so well. I love even more the posh secretary smoking nervously, stomping her stilettos on the sidewalk, because she leaves her package of cigarettes on the bench for me every day of her working week.
The rest I majestically ignore. The same straying dog meets me at eight with a mouth full of hedonistic laughter and throws his meager body against mine to get the night shiver out of our…
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