Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

An Instinctive Feeling of Innocence

Now, on the head of a wrinkly old woman amid all those grey newspapers, it almost looks like a warning light, signaling people to steer clear. The crowd in front of the kiosk is swallowed up at irregular intervals by dusty buses, and an old gypsy tries to console a student who’s clearly late for class: “Hey, honey, let me you make a bouquet, with flowers as pretty as you!” So I stay quietly seated on the little stool and let myself be coddled by the now elderly Sweetie, who’s now quoting aphorisms from some esoteric book. Time passes, and more and more people hurry past the newspaper kiosk, frantically waving, maybe at buses or taxis, or maybe something has upset them, they raise their arms and curse, or just lift their arms out of prudence, disgusted, so as to avoid touching one another in the crush. As soon as a car opens its door, loud music or a nasal radio announcer’s voice pours out into the street. One radio voice laughs sarcastically, “haha,” then there’s a click and a dial tone drowns out all the other noise on the street—the offended caller has hung up. Next to the kiosk café I see the gypsy boy crouch down, the lazy cat on his lap. He counts his money, shaking his head, and tosses a few coins into the steaming puddle before him. “What’s your name?” I’d asked the same little boy on that Sunday a few weeks ago.

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