A cleaner by the night
The cleaning man arrived as usual. Much too late in the hour, to do what no respectable man will lose his sleep for — clean the car. Wiping the dirt off the front and back window, his arms are unable to scan the roof. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered about his job, suggesting that he may not be the owner of the car at all. Then who is he? And why is he cleaning the car at this hour? Just then, another man appears, an Indian man with his rugged bicycle and a bag slung across the front handle bar. He stops and they start chatting. The old man doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to finish his job.
The two neighboring cars seem to be populated with fascinating streaks of light that are coming from the reflection of the headlights of a passing car. The last bus to the town races past, empty as usual. Two birds flap their wings slightly, hopping from one tree to another. Their flight is silent, and their wings perfectly camouflaged to function at night, only visible to a premeditated eye.
As night falls, a new set of creatures take over the earth, as men and women are claimed by sleep once more — facing a vast silence ahead as though an aircraft enters the airspace leaving behind the civilization created by humans over thousands of years of history. In that moment when you are floating in the air, you seem above history, above all human experiences, in the lap of the vast atmosphere, being devoured by eternal space that has summoned you into its vastness. The space heaving and moving outside and inside you, giving you the impression that you emerge from it only to dissolve into it one day, when your time is over.
The old man has finished cleaning his car. He locks the door, indicated by a slight blip of the auto lock. Now, he will go back to his house and sleep sound, having finished the last chore of the day.
