Semaphores, these friends. The summer progresses, hot. You are stopped. Solitary. 5 courses. Only you. The asphalt smoke. A mirage takes you, you advance. It seems quasi che a breve incontrerai un lago fresco. Appunto, si chiamano miraggi. E il tempo passa. E nessuno occupa l'incrocio. E tu aspetti. Caldo. Caldo ovunque. Un enorme fohn. Finalmente verde. Acceleri, senti l'aria addosso, ricordi quando era tra i capelli, ricordi, perchè i capelli non ci sono più, ricordi, perchè il casco isola protegge e mette sottovuoto ma anche sottocaldo. Rosso. Un'altro. 150 metri di libertà. Nessuno in giro. Solo. Rosso. Attendi. Pensi. Pensi al perchè stai aspettando. Pensi a cosa stai aspettando. Pensi alle dita in segno di vittoria, internazionale momento di condivisione ,tra cavalieri d'acciaio. Pensi che la sicurezza è bella, ma anche la libertà non scherza. Pensi ad un cavaliere sul suo cavallo, entangled and bound. And it is green now, suddenly slow. New red. And I remember the green waves of New York, what you see from the Harlem night and see them take fast towards the south, and you can not keep up, almost even with your eyes. And you wonder ... because I'm alone, no one and I'm waiting. It 's a lonely hot. And because I'm waiting for a while. Drops of sweat mark the second. One is reminded of the traffic lights with a countdown, at least you know what to expect. You do not know, I just know that it is red, the evening becomes a mirage. The horse paws. The engineer in me wonders why there is a system that triggers the lights in sequence and why should I pollute a cross when no one uses it. Then he asks what would be the real impact of turning off the engine at every crossing, or the cost to avoid doing so. Meanwhile, the heat increases. The mind soars. The fold becomes a dream. The evening is approaching. Traffic lights are still many. Red sky at night.
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