A weekday, the sun is about to set in the western horizon of a tired, worn and heavily polluted city, people are mostly on their way home, chaotic traffic and its indefinite jams with its background music: the deafening sounds of horns, the sight of the so-called liberty monument which was originally a king's memory with its dazzling architecture and all those uncanny curvatures, the warmth of the air and the salty taste of sweat, the tired feet, the repelling smell of exhaust gases, the tight and uncomfortable rides, the sight of airplanes landing and taking off in the airport nearby, the heated half court basketball and the ice cold soda afterward, the chicken that was grilled on the balcony, the calm of the night and the sound of AC, the cold water in a metallic jar, the endless talks in the dark, the extremely loud snoring by someone, the poster of young MJ on the wall, the very strong home-made beer, the late 5-card-draw pokers, the surreal movie of The Wall, the harsh smell of freshly burned leaves...
Is there anybody out there?
Is there anybody out there?
Source for the notes: www.streetmusician.co.uk
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