The Car Counter Standing, a walking stick in one hand, a leash in the other. Still, he watches the rapid comings and goings of clouds in front of the sun. Only, the collar is empty— Lucky was a goner years ago— and the dangling cord just functions as a second prop. Every day the hours pass by quickly, until the shade arrives to stay. Resolute, he then turns his gaze to the cars up and down the hill road in the distance, starts counting— one every two minutes or so— without batting an eyelash, stops thinking. Yet steady and assured— fatigue is not a problem— waiting composedly. As if stuck on the pull-off of life.
by Alessio Zanelli
86 | SANSKRIT
