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Today is Friday and I am walking towards the bus stop to go to work. I am smiling, not just because is Friday, is the Friday still holding the smell of childhood happiness, the memory of been out of school in the sunny afternoons, (is always sunny in my memories, and yes, it is Madrid). A few steps away from my flat door, there is one of those floor metal covers that I like to step on, both feet, and make a noise, the Friday freedom sound. Is very early in the morning, is London, is cloudy. A brand new Maserati stops in the traffic lights. A few meters from it, under the protection of the canopy of the fire man building, the 3 men are waking up, moving their cardboard and old sleeping bags, tiding up their “home”. The Maserati start moving leaving the noise of the powerful engine behind. I miss the green light. I wait, and then run because my bus is approaching the stop. I seat in front of a lady, nice perfume, dress according the latest rules in expensive fashion and with her Louis Vuitton bag over her knees. Next to her, another woman, who probably isn’t is that much older that her, is holding her pound store bag, bulky and worn from the many reuses.Just before we reach the bridge I step out of the bus and walk towards my second bus stop. The monitor indicates the schedule of bus arrival: “1- 270 …. 2 minutes”, “2 - 220… 4 minutes” a few minutes later the 220 arrives and the monitor indicates: “1- 270 …. 2 minutes”… Even for buses, time and space are different.

London, February 2015

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