A tiny house

A second chance

December 2010.

I crossed the portal of grandmothers crying, kids, unknown people and some others. Walking weakly — like in the last marathon, I arrived.
Sitting, walking. That’s what my life have been. And, isn’t different from others. Others — overthinking, believe in wildness out there; noisy streets, sparkling neons and smoggy skies.

A crowded train station groans in a confusing language. And a red car (luxurious) with two inside, pretending to be a taxi offered to drive me nowhere. I erred.
Conversation is over; time to get off — clearly overpriced — and take the wrong tour. I keep trying to shoot, shocked by everything out there, unsuccessfully.

Breathing is not easy. A viscous sugar goes in and out, burning my neurons.
It’s seven and I can remember when yesterday, from the train, I spotted a man harvesting the winter sunshine. Proud of China; said welcome.