[a short tale about quotidian]
“a woman enters in a men's toilet. despair wears her face as she walks and keep averting other eyes and staring at the ground. an old fashioned dyed hair, brown eyes and clothes she may use when the world feels like not paying the due attention.
two men are cleaning the Old Fox hotel main hall's windows. their duties keep them focused on the job but something gets their attention as a rare event turns to take place in the corner of 19th street, at the town of Foxington.
in a frame of minutes, the brown hats on the streets drop their cases to watch something their eyes recognized as a rare event. the noise on Hedfax's square gets loud through my flat's windows and wakes me up.
unable to have my first morning thought on a cup of coffee, the screams at the streets drags my attention - it’s a rare event - i open the corridor door and a mid-aged lady tells me to get out from the building, as she lights a cigarette and almost crumbles down in the stairs.
"it's a rare event!", she warns me.
it happens to be the first time something moved such a crowd around an event in that small town. i grab my glasses wondering if what i would see outside would be an inception of a disturbed atmosphere of facts. it would be easier to bear. the double door of my building opens abruptly, strange voices and foreign tongues are to speak when i first come out.
it's a rare event.”