De esquina en esquina la ciudad me cuenta sus cosas.
Lo dice una pared manchada.
Lo dice un tallo verde entre el adoquín y el cordón de la vereda.
Lo dice un trapo rojo que se deshilacha en la rama.
Lo dice un maniquí superfashion que apoya la frente en el vidrio tratando de hipnotizar al semáforo.
Cabellos teñidos; cabezas con vinchas; cabezas sin pelo; zapatillas deportivas; zapatos lustrados; un maletín marrón; un bolso violeta; un carrito cartonero inflado de ocre; un diario plegado; un diario desplegado; pantalones que van y pantalones que vienen; varias corbatas insulsas de acá para allá, y celulares y más celulares que resuenan sin ton ni son.
Las respuestas que todos buscan pasan volando y se dispersan en la esquina.
El otoño sopla y hace un lío en las papeleras.
Nos aferramos al verano, pero la corriente nos lleva.
La avenida fluye.
Los coches pasan.
From corner to corner the city tells me its stuff.
A stained wall says it.
A green stem between the paving and the curb says it.
A stained wall says it.
A green stem between the paving and the curb says it.
A red rag that frays at the branch says it.
A super-fashion dummy, that rests its forehead against the window trying to hypnotize the traffic lights, says it.
Dyed hair; headbands; heads without hair; trainers; shining shoes; a brown briefcase; a violet bag; a ragman cart plenty of ocher; a folded newspaper; an unfolded newspaper; pants that go and pants that come; several ties to and fro, and lots of cell phones resonating without rhyme or reason.
The answers everyone is looking for fly by and scatter beyond the corner.
Autumn blows and makes a mess in the bins.
We cling to the summer but the stream carries us.
The avenue flows.
The cars pass.
Autumn blows and makes a mess in the bins.
We cling to the summer but the stream carries us.
The avenue flows.
The cars pass.
(FOTO & TEXT: Petra Steinmeyer)
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