It's the City, with its days and many faces, joys and melancholy, frenzies and expectations; suspended between life at a traffic light and the going backs in the evening, universal place. Cities so different and far away from each other, yet the familiarity that unites them becomes disarming when I retrace my life with my mind.
Sometimes what talks to me are simply the walls, or the pavement, trampled after a rainy day and its deep wrinkles; the passage of time with legs sticked like poles into an endless hope.
And the city people; that inward look that envelops us all like in a bubble, and that sometimes happens to cross; small miracles, which sparkle with their own light.
Far away or near home, where I smell the perfume that aggregates the city.