It seemed like spring

I took the metro the other day, like everyday, to go to work. There were legs and arms and bones and skin everywhere. Strips and tops and cool, light fabrics. But oh! how disappointing. It was only girls. They seemed to be the only ones that have noticed spring was already here. There had been a synchronous move, an unplanned impulse to act unanimously.

And then there were men in thick coats and leather jackets, letting perspiration enter the realms of sweating. Winter shoes and woolen socks. Bushy hair and unsaven cheeks. Headphones on, oblivious to their surroundings.

Back at the end, hidden behind a bunch of naughty ladies, there he was a man in sandals.

Carpe noctum!

Slumpuppies!

It was on the news. The Indian kids that acted in that "crappy" film Slumdog Millionaire are back at home. They have had a taste of luxury and riches they could not even dream of. A minute of glory and fame to let you know how a minority lives. Then back to where you belong!

The girl only wants to wear the dress she was wearing for the Oscars ceremony. Like a 21st century cinderella, waiting for a prince to rescue her. The little boy complains about their home without beds. He refuses to sleep on the floor and finds the smell of cow dung unbearable. He knows what a hotel room looks like and refuses to accept that he has to be condemned to that hanty tonw for life.

Their father, not knowing how to deal with that problem whipped them to make them reasonable and docile children again.

Once again, all back to normal.

Carpe Noctum!