It used to be summer. I used to walk back home.
I used to be in love with this big city like you’re in love with a stranger.
You see him two or three times and you don’t know anything about him.
You start asking around, you get different answers.
But you know better.
I crawled into bed with this stranger, the city, and oh, the dirt and its dust.
And then started singing in a deep voice.
‘’Once upon a time I was talking of freedom. At breakfast I used to spread it on my toast, I used to chew it all day long and in company my breath was delightfully redolent of freedom.’’ ( Camus, The Fall)
He actually said that.
And then his car just crashed.
pictures made by dad