The City has everything.
The City extends its putrefact body across squares, taverns, sidewalks, dog cadavers, boulevards and boutiques.
The City reverberates with children's whining, fragments of conversation, screams, peals of laughter, deaths, shit, garbage, and premature cardiac arrests.
Horses, buildings, passages, gipsies, merchants, markets, the evil, the fortune-tellers. Festivals, alcohol, fairs, football matches, tennis courts and shopping centres.
The radiation of mobile phones, televisions, refrigerators, microwaves, computer screens and laptops.
The City has a large, calloused hand. On its wrinkled palm, it clutches all the sounds, signs, processes, commuters, lives, birds' wings and guns.
Through the City pass the railways, the bus lines; it has got ugly, dirty stops, clean halls, tunnels, rivers and bridges.
The City weeps sewage water, emits electricity, radiates light, provides heat, connects calls, feeds people and butchers animals.
The City expulses copious flows of blood, pus, tears, sweat, Coca-Cola, pee, yoghurt, honey, tea, coffee and diarrhoea.
***
A/N: Music theme song: The Clash: "London Calling."
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Tiny Tales | ✔️
Short StoryThis book is a collection of numerous short stories I have created, both mini and midi ones, written in the period of the past twenty years. Some of them are award-winning entries in various micronarrative competitions. Others were adapted with the...
