My Friends
Successes and failures, positive and negative experiences, experiences pleasant and unfortunate. Nothing unusual, we all thought of something more or less similar. This is why it struck me, and I must say he almost scared, the thought crossed my mind when the train he was riding left the station of Pisa for Florence. Slow start to the row of cars made them feel the power of the engine speed and anticipated it would reach the convoy through the colossus that pulled us. In the slow passing that only takes the opening minutes, we witness the sad landscape, ugly and gloomy on the outskirts of the train. It does you’re in Barcelona, Rome, London or Seville.
Dozens of machines, like giant crabs rusty metal, why not wait, knotted together, or maybe in order? Do you expect the day of scrapping? Or wait for the shift? Studs rusty iron and wood are scattered between straw mulch. The buildings which adjoin the roads are poor, nasty, a blackish, sooty coal as with clothes hanging dripping indifference and contempt. This landscape unit at the time of the game, wakes up feeling melancholy and sometimes sad. I do not remember even once that starting a train journey has felt euphoria, or at least an energetic joy. Based on those gloomy cloud that envelops the beginning of every trip and still the mind occupied with thoughts indeterminate, I came all of a sudden the question: how many friends I have? As I was startled, but not the question but the answer. With one hand, and there are plenty enough to count fingers. However, the shock came when I thought about it and I realized the meaning of the friends I have. How many friends do you have? Two, three, four? There are few. You start from scratch. You can be very satisfied.
Tags: poetry and stories