The sun is up. Spring has come. Hell, summer. Shit. I hate it. No more rain, no more cold. The streets are full of people. Everybody wants to feel the sunlight. I hate it. This city was built to be lit by weak lamps, and dim bar lights. I can’t walk in the sunlight. It makes this city ugly, dirty ,cheap. The mystic , tall, empty, almost boemic streets fade as the sun apears , and what remains aren’t streets, only gutters. Made to carry the filth of unimagantive, shallow , evil people. Maybe every 1000th of them is an actual person, with a personality longer than a two sentence summary. It’s indurable . And they are everywhere. Thank God the sun has to set at some point, and they move back inside. And they take their evil and filth with them. Night fixes everything . It’s dark covers heal the cities wounds and the moonlight sets the mood. Only as the animals retreat, some into their houses ,the others in the hellholes they call clubs ,does this city breathe again. And you can walk down the street , and not listen to a thousand phonecalls , or the schreetching of tires . Instead you can sit on a corner somewhere , bask in the moonlight and look at those imperfect dark streets, and remeber why this city is so beautifull. Despite all the people that try to ruin it.
This city is a whore. A beautiful whore , standing in the shade, showing off her beauty , selling herself to the highest bidder. Hell, not even the highest , just anyone who can pay. It won’t love you , it won’t care for you. But if you pay enough you can do what you want to it. Like every whore, it’s slowly wearing out. When it steps out of the cover of the night you can see the marks. The ugly buildings made of white glass, the empty shopping malls, the begers on the streets , the sadness and the grief. And like every noir story, where you have the beautiful whore ,you have to have the male supporting character , who pities her , but also loves her. I guess it’s me. But I can’t change it , I’m just a shadow on its wall.
“Justice !” The word echoes on the streets. It’s everywhere, on every lip , every newspaper, every speech political, or over the price of milk. The city calls for jusitice. Like it knows the meaning of the word. Justice isn’t some greater truth we can call to every time we find ourself beaten, or things just don’t go our way. It’s a simple principle : “To each his own .” or : “What you earn is what you get.” . It means don’t cheat , give everyone a fair chance. Play by the rules , and hope your rival does the same. The natural state of the world is injustice , nature does whatever she wants to whoever she wants, deserve it or not. And yet ,the one thing humas crave above all is the very justice we cannont have. It’s a tragic fight for the impossible. Don’t scream for justice , make it happen
The sky burned yesterday. It amazed me. It doesn’t go with this city at all, but it was beautiful . The clouds chose each their own color. Some were purple ,some were red, some were blue. Not two were alike. Even the sky painted itself. From west to east, the colors went ,gradiently , from a very light pink to a very dark blue. And then it snowed. Innocent little snowflakes fell ,white and clean onto the floor. But it didn’t last long. No saw them vanish . But somewhere in the night all the perfect little snowflakes disappeared. Most of them melted away, some blended in with the color of this city. Grey, and dirty. It didn’t suprise me. Maybe just dissapiont me a bit. This city tends to that to artists, or anyone else with something beautiful . It kills them , or starves them or just makes them let go of the thing that made them so special ,so beautiful . Why should nature be an exception ?
It finally rained again. I mean the way it’s supposed to rain. For three days ,non stop. The streets didn’t even have time to dry. It’s like paradise. The whole city’s grey, wet ,clean, empty. Like they are meant to be. I feel I and my coat rule the streets. We don’t mind the rain , we embrace it. I can feel every drop cleanse my soul. It’s cold, very cold. It’s probably the reason I have this cough. Not that I’m complaining. I love the cold. It makes you rational ,wakes you up, keeps you on the edge. Being very ,very cold is the best cup of coffee you can take. You feel real , alive, powerful. Add a girl to kiss ,and you get the most perfect feeling known to man.Or maybe to me… anyways I got off the subject. Back to the city and it’s streets. No not streets, not anymore. They are extended gutters now, carrying away the evil and the filth. It will come back ,it always finds a way, but for now it’s gone. This town is pure. Just like I like it.