NIGHT VISITORS (floatig skirt)

NIGHT VISITORS
It is dark
It is night
It's hot
it is very hot, impossible to resist on the warm scheets,
impossible to resist locked in heavy thoughts.
There is only one thing to do, escape the room, leave the house.
Hundreds and hundreds of people roam the streets of the big and boiling city, a lot of they reach the center.
Here there are people, there is light, you can be alone or talk to everybody.
The heavy thoughts are driven by the wakes of fast bicycles that grazing refresh you, the dark ones follow with the eyes lonely men who just walk that way forever all day.
In the smiles of families shouting, in the flutter of pigeons, in the shining of mobile phones in the hands of everyone, of anyone, in the colors of the clothes, in the many languages spoken, you try something similar to yourself, and not be found, and wanders through the center as only a visitor to Mars can do.
You look at the smiles of the people for a couple of hours and then you feel that the thoughts and the clothes look more light and fresh.
You can go home.
In the room, the linens too rough and warm welcome you, but you fall asleep anyway.