Village, Morning People



a piece of the project I am working on "Morning people". This writing is still a draft.

Cars, lights, houses, streets, have you seen my view? What’s going on in this village? Did something happen here while I was gone? I think so. I feel old here. Quiet and comfortable as childhood. Things are the same. In a very different way. I am headed west, while everything is going north. Drink a lot of water. I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t breathe this kind of air.

Yes, cars. Cars. I mean they’re cars. Isn’t it weird? We own things that could take us around. From this head of the city, all the way to the other. A machine that moves faster than we do and pretty much pollutes the air. A device that could communicate before I think and send a text massage with a slight touch of my fingertips. Walls and things that I can call mine, to make me trust myself. To keep me safe and happy. Somewhere in the city. You might be attached to the ground, you might be in the fifth floor, or in eighth. It the city, you never know what kind of place you are going to end up with. Or in my case, I’d rather call it a village. Because it’s nothing more than that. How many houses are there in a village? Twenty? Twenty five? How many houses do you know in your life, that you could freely stop by and hang around with its people for as long as you want. How many people that you could rely on? How many living rooms you could lay on the couch and watch television, and worry about nothing? Do you see where I am going with this?

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