The first headline was "I tend to hate. Everyone."
Then, because of you, I had to change.
The second title, the new one, this one, will pierce you.
Do you know those summer stalls, set up on the "seafronts", right around August bank holiday?
Those stalls where you can find everything, badly made things, light summer dresses in all colors produced by some child in Nepal, or Laos?
While you pass through mothers scolding their children with an ice cream cone in hand and bored husbands texting with their lovers while looking at the asses of sixteen year olds still in costume.
The caramelized almond cart and the Pakistani man with balloons in his hand, also with the new one, transparent with LEDs.
After a while, you will find the last stall, a little before the bend.
Precisely that stall under the statue of the Madonna, placed there a few years earlier by the fishermen, as if to calm the sea.
It is the last, and also the worst lit.
Who the fuck do you want to give a damn about a book stall, used books at that?
You, with anyone.
You will find me there.
I would like to be there.
Really.
You are there, and suddenly, the sad look that you loved so much.
_
Now I'm going to the deco shop to buy a side dish, something green and quick, like a visitors.
_
