there is a town that the buildings are not

there is a town that the buildings are not meant for these streets

...these streets are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do

but in this one, it is me there...watching a crowd underneath the night’s veil….

I should be part of them... they told me that I am one of them... I wish I was but a strange feeling insists that I don' t belong here..

I stayed a few more minutes…… no definitely I don;t belong here. I took my guitar in it's hard case and moved some meters away, in the opposite corner, still watching the crowd….

"You play the guitar?" A billion sarcastic answers lit up my brain, but she seemed nice and somehow less automatic than the other people at the party. Finally I admitted that

I didn't, that the guitar was just my prop to attract spontaneous women. She smiled automatically at my honesty, then pointed to a red button on her nape: "Just Push Play."

Wandering in time and space; as carrier and funambulist, as a leading actor in a field which we owe to re-consider…

"Hi, Joan," I slurred. "I really loved you on Lamp Chop's Playalong." Joan Rivers smiled at me like a frowning, melty heap of toxic waste. And that's how my vomit stain got there.