Man lying on a wall

One cloud after the other is passing by, while the endless stream of people does the same out on the streets. I can hear how the cars drives by, in a high speed, where nobody really knows how fast there are driving. I can hear the factory on the other side of the wall, producing the things there’s up in time for the moment. But most of all, I see the clouds and hear the birds sing somewhere far away from here, and I think about my family. All I have left is the picture of my beautiful kids, but I’m to lazy to find them in real life, so instead I’m just laying here. Like yesterday, and the day before that, and any other day.

I can feel the looks I get from people who are passing by, but I don’t care. If just one of them would stop up to talk to me, I would tell them the secret of why I am here… but no one does, of cause.

There where one day there stood out in particular. Some young kids have been out all night and I had stayed to see the stars. One of the kids stopped and looked at me and said.

  “I see you here every day,”

Then he took his umbrella, looked at it, and gave it to me. I did not say anything and before I could he was gone with his friends.

I remember the times when I was young. The parties and the love… I miss it, but I am glad that I have become older, because now I know the secret.

But from that day, instead of walking alone to the wall, between the fabrics and the road, I had the black umbrella with me.

I look down to my black shoes and up on the sky again, to see to clouds have turned into a dragon, fighting a dog to get a rose. I have a marvels imagination, if I may say it myself and since there still are no here, I can.

Then there was this Sunday morning. It was spring and the flowers has just bloomed. I could see that, because back then there where a park on other side of the wall, instead of the fabric. There was a woman all dressed in pink and with a briefcase with here. Without a word or a single gesture, she sat down the briefcase and left.

So now I take both the briefcase and the black umbrella with me every day to the wall, encase any of them should come back and wanting the umbrella or briefcase back.

I haven’t even looked I her briefcase, because that would a gentleman never do.

Once in my younger days, when Daisey still was in bland us, I use to work at a factory just like the one, on the other side of the wall. I would come home after a long day with endless of boring work, to my beautiful wife and my two kids, and give each one a kiss on their chine. Daisey, of cause, also got one right on her lips. But that’s a long time ago. All I have left is a picture, the sky, the wall and the secret of life.

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