A sweaty day

It was one of those tired mornings. Woke up at 10, got up at 10.30.

What happened in those thirty minutes you would ask; nothing but a neck and neck combat between my two inner halves.

- I am too tired to go out at the doctor's like i said i would. I have to go to Bologna and i have to wash my hair.

- I'll go to the doctor's cause i said i would but then i am not going to Bologna.

At that point I go for a coffee and all clarifies in my head, i do what i have to do.

I am ready to take the bus and go to the railway station "I haven't taken the bus in a while".

And there i was, sitting in the 2nd class carriage of a regional train, august, in the middle of a plain.As the train passes through the fields filling the space between a town and a city I notice the people.

I am sitting alone with my ipod on and a book to re-read.

The regional trains have open carriages in which the seats are disposed by twos, two facing north, two facing south and so on.

We all sit far away from each other, "I don't know you, why should i seat in a place where you can watch me and maybe intrude my solitude?"

The old man sitting in the right side of the carriage (i sit on the left side) looks at me, maybe is because of my 3/4 pants or maybe is because of my orange converse.

He is trying to see the title of my book but the only page he can see is the back cover, no picture of the author on it, only a glimpse of curly red hair. He looks outside his window.

People pass, they go, some come in.

I change position, i look outside the window and go on reading. The old man peers at me, and still he wants to know what I am reading.

Unknowingly i seem to move a little in his direction, positioning my front page right in is range of vision. He seems to catch some of it, he looks disappointed, turns away.

An asiatic man, korean i think, is sleeping behind him.

A girl who must be my age passes through every seat leaving a little card, it says "I am poor, i have three brothers to feed." And while she heads to the end of the carriage leaves behind a sour smell of sweat.

I look into my wallet, put 2 euros on the paper and look away. The old man watches me, maybe he is thinking i am a rich young lady, maybe he thinks I am a young fool.

The asiatic man is awake, sees the begging piece of paper next to his seat, he doesn't move but still waits for the girl to come back at him. She asks for money, he looks at her and then looks away.

I wonder, while the maybe rumanian maybe albanian girl thanks me for the money, how must he feel, being a non-begging immigrant in this country and seeing this people in a situation close to his own begging for money.Does he feel stupid for not doing it himself? Does he feel pride for having a job and house for which he worked hard for?

I always sit back to the direction I am going, it gives me the time to see what i am leaving behind.

As I slide outside the train and into the paying bathroom i wonder.

80 cents to pee.

An american girl puts 1 euro and the door doesn't open, i head to the button but a man of the most ungrateful race comes out saying "You have to pay".