I walked past this building for years and years and saw it in decay and renovated and operating as a school again.
It was once a school for boys, a school for men and a school of men, artistic and educated and polyglots; urban philosophers.
Right across the street, there was this live club. " The Rodeo" it was called. Bands and tribute bands and school bands all played on its stage. And the youths and the fans would line up impatiently until the doors were opened. And the men, those philosophers were there. Moving in their natural habitat of unlimited capacity.
Sometimes we would take the underground together, I couldn't help staring in awe; they were real, breathing creatures. Sometimes they would share a smile, timidly. The night was out there waiting and we would indulge in its pleasures once the air would touch our faces again, timidly.
Part of the urban environment, the cobblestones which paved the city's culture, part of myself, part of who I am, part of who I am to be, indeed. Part of what I am to leave behind.
The boys. The men. The dreams.
