« How do you call the skin that covers the head of the dick? »
« Skinhead. »

I jump in the metro and I occupy the only seat left by three ladies travelling together. On the other side there are two guys. The one close to the window is shamefully drunk, his eyes and cheeks vividly red. He swings left and right, now babbling some words to keep himself into reality, and his pal has just answered the phone.

« YOU called me, sir. Who’s this? »

I turn to the ladies. The one in front of me is a actually a guy dressed like a woman. Despite his unshaved hairy legs, he’s definitely the one with more style, something between a rockabilly and a housewife pin-up. Red curly wig and black eyeliner.

Now a homeless jumps in the train. I recognise her before she starts speaking, for she standing in front of the door looking left and right, checking the place. She moves like she’s the queen of the underground and each of us is just one of her lucky guests.

« good morning, I’m asking you money, uh, to eat or…

She widen her eyes.

« to drink »

I like the way she said that last word, making it sound like an exclamation and a weird question together. Her eyes shined while doing so.
Nobody reacts. She turns her head to the guy biting a kebab, then to a girl typing in her pricy phone. Who has not ignored her, now lays with the head down, humiliated and embarrassed.

« pigs. »

I hear this while she walks down the corridor. A whisper, like a spit insult.

« freaks. »

Finally a third one that I don’t quite get.

At last she leaves the train.

I slowly turn my head following the direction of my sight. I stare at everybody.
Anything is secondary when you don’t have a roof over your head.
Above the passenger sat in front of me, a long and narrow window reflects my own figure. A body, squeezed against the train floor.

 
SONG OF THE DAY: DJ Koze – Mariposa