I was taking a walk through the city, when I stepped into a pothole. Be that as it may, I know for a fact that someone had tripped me.
I sat on bench, to recover from this impression. Were there birds singing above my head? Nah, just the lunatics whistling through the branches. I stood up in a hurry, certain that I had sat on someone’s lap.
Then a kind of fear came over me, and I started running, wondering if someone was pushing me from behind.
And as if all this wasn’t enough, the wind started blowing–but it was no wind, it was a rain of prods and shoves and pushes: countless poking fingers in my back, my neck my arms.
And this is how, day after day, I try to make my way through the most overcrowded place in the world: the ten feet around me.