She's a weirdo.
She's young and dirty.
She insults people and puts her feet on the seat in front of her.
People look, whisper, move away.
He's a gentleman.
He's older and smells of cologne.
He smiles and nods.
The girl takes her feet off the seat. The man sits.
He sits and speaks. He speaks to her like a granpa.
"You shouldn't put your feet on the seat."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not very nice. You dirty the seat and other people can't use it."
She listens to him. She tries to justify herself. She tells sad pieces of her life, real or made up.
People look at them, listen to them.
The metro stops.
The gentleman stands up, "It was a pleasure," he says, shaking her hand.
"For me, too" she says, she smiles, she's like a happy child.
People look at them.
Other people's kindness is always so embarassing.
The end
E siamo a tre, tre racconti tradotti in inglese.
Anche quest'ultimo è nato per Humans Torino (qui la versione italiana) e anche quest'ultimo ha goduto dell'anglosaggiasupervisione di quella santa donna di Renée. Ella, madre di un adorabile pargolo, si starà ormai chiedendo se sia peggio cambiare pannolini o correggere racconti di amiche a cui non basta più parlare all'Italia, ma vogliono coinvolgere l'Europa, il Mondo, il Sistema Solare, la galassia.
Pancrazia, verso l'infinito e oltre!
Volare o cadere con stile? Inutili sottigliezze.
Prossimo obiettivo: scrivere un racconto direttamente in inglese.
Stay tuned!
