The bus

Victoria is travelling with the evening bus - the 9 p.m bus. Outside, the lilac wind blows and there, where the outside is not , the wind of change blows. Somewhere on the horizons, the sky blinks and darkens calmly - and there,where the horizon is not, the sky is already dark, but full of stars.

Victoria occupies a place in the bus: a blue chair that can be seen among the orange support bars. The bus is lighted opaque and there, where the bus is not, there is a fast driveway which keeps going until it loses itself in the serpentine and darkness.

But Victoria is in the bus: she's not losing herself at all - she's listening to music with her headphones that are not colour matching with her phone; the phone is not matching with the current times, the current times are not matching with what Victoria believes about the world...the chain of unmatching things.

The bus has arrived in the big well-lighted station: there are a lot of people and all of them are happy because they exist - all of them are relaxing on corrugated, lacquered benches that are definetely matching with the pavement. But Victoria is not staying here: she's just smiling, delighted by the view, then, happy because it is, she waits for the next bus: she didn't yet arrived to her destination. Not yet.