The more and more difficult and difficult to survive decades have already turned into clouds. Like pigeon guano on the windowsills, which cannot be picked up once and for all, or scraped off. Only one thing is certain here: if a curious bird, reluctant to stare - be it a raven, magpie, or tern - takes off with a light, almost airy movement between the far-seeing cotton-wool continents of the horizon, sooner or later it will look out for the more unfortunate and stupider human son and once and for all drops his stink bombs.
Because human life shrunk down to an ant-millimeter can be worth this much, while pigeons, ravens, and Tandori's favorite sparrows are also feathers clinging to the ground. - Surely the immortal happy ones are still hiding somewhere at some point, who fully enjoy the fruits of the Garden of Eden of Being, and they have no idea to ask anyone why the other is miserable, why he has degraded and lowered his own selfish standard of living and is therefore so grumpy?!
Scared - the thin Reality can hardly hold the considered formulas of dreams, ideas, instincts and desires anymore, from which it becomes consciously clear that each person still existed as a separate, eccentric-stubborn island on this mud-ball, and paid the price with interest for it, if he stayed true to himself because he became a Judas-traitor to others, then they could read the petty, small-scale judgment of his failure enough times chased, humiliated on his head.
Out there, in the urban festive whirlwind that has hibernated to ice, it's as if a constantly humming, buzzing beehive is singing: "Buy anything now, because it's worth paying for later!" - And the cat-and-mouse game of chance between each other goes on and on with petty, squealing pleasure, until - unfortunately, in most cases - the average person loses anyway. That is why game theory is much more a it is determined by blind luck, like anything else, and that in the crowded, posh casinos in Monte Carlo, you cannot see the sunlight, so that they can create a deliberate eternity, an inner stressing restlessness.
And while high-world, hysterical checkers-queens parade one after another on the red carpet in the whirlwind of their big evenings, where - as you know - only success, fame, lowly assertion, pushy intent are the latest trendy chic - they can hardly notice them in the alleys of street corners in cardboard box cities survivors, or that sooty-faced little angel who sells bouquets of flowers during shivering minuses!