V
How pathetic was his life.
I saw him there, sitting there. He was always on the phone, talking to people he will never get the chance to meet in person, his voice was just transitory, a shadow on the background, the moment people would hang up on him, he would be forgotten.
People talk. People always talk and they never listen and well, they say he has been there more than anyone, no one could ever remember that sordid place without him. It was as if he were trying to be part of that obscure, impossible corner. He didn’t even care about his own persona, he would try to reach whoever might pay some accidental attention on the phone, so he would talk gibberish and disappear forever into oblivion to the world. No one would ever even ask for his name, nor his past. But everybody would remember the sound of his voice. It was embed in the back of our memories, we all had heard it at some point in our life. And still, no one would offer a minute of their time to actually pay attention to what he had to say.
He knew he was going to die that day, still, he talked to the phone as any other average, gray, lethargic day.
