One night was still rebellious and desperate, like every night, one morning after falling, tired and bored. A struggle for life imposed by monotony, the pessimism of working the night shift for a long time.
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The location is on a very busy street in terms of location, while the whole city is asleep, it is a street where people who prefer to sleep at night.
Although it was in my past, it was a period of intense psychological warfare, the only good part of me was that I would write poems by taking paper and pencils in quiet nights.
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Silence at work, part of me is crowded, part of me is lonely, everyone is running to their own lives, there is a crowd, but they don't know about you. What is the importance of your presence in this crowd, a huge nothing, not a huge nothing.
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