Between old buildings in a narrow brickstoned street, the humid evening air is misty with tobacco smoke and loud voices. Hundreds of people are standing in line, waiting. Waiting for...
...the gates to open. The multitude of people starts to move - flowing through the gates like a river - everyone alone in the mids of the masses - locked up inside their own private buble. So many destinies, so much experience, joy, sorrow - and loneliness.
Alone with friends or partners - grouped up like islands in the ocean. The buble expands for a while. Including one or a few chosen ones. Dinner at night or...
...lunch under the sun. Urban living - taking in the sights, mingling, keeping up appearences, finetuning the carefully laid fasades.
Forcing the instincts to remain submerged in order to fit in to society. "Your attention please, do not behave strangely, it will not be tolerated." So they behave themselves, every day for the rest of their lives. You, me and all people.
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