He slept under the bridge and in broad daylight in a park.
He smelled flowers and rubbish, perfume and death, desert and shadowed field.
He climbed towers, went down the underground and its basements.
He navigated on streets and avenues, slow and quickly, under the sunray and against the moon.
He heard screams, howls, crickets, tweets.
He lived the silence and the crash, the rust and the crystal, the day in the night and the darkness in broad daylight.
He paraded and was many steps, many hearts, many hands, many causes, many fights. He screamed and the concrete towers remained silent.
He became dustcloud, paper in the wind, the howl of the wind.
He entered niches, rooms, apartment blocks, courts, squares and alleyways.
He heard the walking of the rivers. Rivers of blood, cries and semen. Rivers of sweat and searching. Rivers inside the air, the soil, inside the heart and the gaze.
He became city, concrete and asphalt.
He felt its loneliness, its crowd and its never-ending light.
He flowed in its history and its corrosion.