These are the same empty streets, the same apartment houses, the same gray and white tones, the same cold, the same music, the same faces, the same words flying in the air without any weight between you and me. I am walking with my hands in my pockets, my shoulders a little bent, my soaked, torn military boots hitting the ground. I come to the deserted street. It is dark. It is night once again.
Lights glow dimly in the fog.
I go through the streets. I follow the maze of streets, keeping to the sidewalks. I study the faces of all these unknown people. I pass under dark archways where beggars are squatting. I see a long line of people at a bus stop.