"Another night spent to console a lonely man. But you, who will comfort you?"
recited more or less like a phrase that I read a couple of years ago on the platform of a tram stop. It was written with a pen, printed who knows how many days on an opaque plastic cover, full of vulgar and written handouts. It struck me particularly, I thought of a woman who was waiting for a streetcar at night probably would never have passed. Maybe he was there for shelter because it was raining. And reflect on what he saw on an evening and who knows where with who knows whom. Probably reflected the loneliness, his, man in the world. This mass of isolated individuals, which is in its inconsistency its raison d'etre.
A night to forget, to enjoy the small distraction of an adventure that you have not framed well. To try to get into that famous "Erasmus spirit" that seems more a mental construct a reality. Tonight we lost ourselves in the race complicated the fun at all costs. But not quite. Let us go to recover, resume your identity before finally throwing. Because there comes a point where you can not do, where you know you can not be like any other. A point where you realize that not all are made to comfort men only, because we're not really alone. There will be that day, too. But is not the time. Loneliness is ... Is it being restricted, unable. Think of something and not know who to tell. Smiling and receives no smile in return. Look in the mirror and feel empty. Go to sleep and slip into themselves without means of escape ... Not being alone is much more than people think. True we are all alone, but basically we are few. Because most of the time, even if we do not know there is one man who wants to smile.
