On the Verrazanno Bridge, N.Y.C.
It has been years I haven't laughed at something. My lips almost stood pasted to each other. The cold air of night and the fog, surrounding me like a group of predator would do with their prey, invades my lungs and destroy the last parcels of warmness I kept all these years.
The last memories of a fallen past.
The storage facilities on the other side of the Hudson River are my home now. Kind of a new kind of wanderers I belong to. The concrete is my new compadre… There's no living being but me here. Even the cats don't search anymore in the garbains for some rotten fishes, they've all gone. They've all died, for a reason or another.
Even the humans have gone.
I don't know where everybody has gone. It's like if all Manhattan deserted the place, leaving everything "as-is". I just come back from there, indeed : some needs are uncontrollable.
Hunger, thirst, and draining fluids. Every kind of them.
The large numbers of restaurants, cafés and ot