sitting, waiting for my turn at the post office, I reflected on the rhythm of boredom. The sweat was now frozen in the armpits, traumatized by the air conditioning. The stomach intuzione contract for the wait would be long.
watched the sadistic regularity and quiet of the place. The automatic door is opened and closed periodically vibrating over and over, each time swallowing blocks of hot air. A cluster of yellow and blue metallic cold prevailed on furniture.
Mainly reflects the presence of the square, the king of all the shapes that made up the room of that office. Chairs square, lined up and sorted, as we waited. Tunes square on wallpaper, grigini but unmistakable. Unambiguous boxes in the brochures collected together with forms, notice boards, rectangular. Big square above our heads on the ceiling.
The muffled silence gave way to cries out of tune just a machine that marked the shift. Ticking of shoes on linoleum gray, shiny reflections of the faint and flickering glow of neon. Users responded to treble the faint voices of employees, beyond the glass doors. Small pieces of paper crumpled and abandoned lay with wads of dust in some desolate corner.
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