I look at them from behind, I judge their rush, their motives, his coldness. I reach up to hate their aspirations, those fights rampant success which do more than undermine the humanity of the society.
I look at them from behind, they run around to get to the metro, to work, money, the Tomb. Sometimes they expand the perspective, and then come the tears, despair. But it is too late already, the time is short, the underground part, money is tight, and the Tomb yearns to be pleased.
And I, look at them from behind. Section, tucked away in a corner of the platform, behind a screen in a sadly illuminated office, while I climb a false crest of wallpaper illusions of green faces sometimes I think it's better to look the other way, pursuing my own vices. Forget them and forget about another possible life.
And I feel a presence in the neck, hidden eyes look, disturbing, disappointed. No one escapes from them.