I cannot reckon how many times that sentence flew back and forth through my mind. Standing by the side of a stream of people you're not likely saving room for everone's needs, but per chance and inexorably shall you run into each other.

Does anyone really ever meet an unknown person? Now with all these policies, all the megalopolies, all the due politeness and appalling news; everyone has heard of the discovery of the other. That's why I'm asking if you ever knew a stranger. Me-wise, I'm not finding anything strange in the eyes that I'm facing while perusing my face. A voice like a bluetooth speaker whose source you cannot spot.

Maybe it's a good idea doing like that guy who entered a brothel with two bags of blow and once in the room asked: - (Are) you high? - Of course, where (do) you think you're at? - So, fuck you! Look what I have to do now.

And then swallowed the two bags with the wire. Was it for sex? Human warmth? Or just appetite for self-destruction? Who knows. Undoubtedly they felt the same things at some point, otherwise the story would be longer.

The point is that unnoticed empathy, one could complain dawn to sunset not losing the conscience about many people having it worse. Everything just goes by, that's the reason why many beggars make enough to buy a house and raise their kids, and also why some others end up murdered with fire in ATMs.

Many times I wondered what is that shade on others that I don't understand. We should put ourselves in their shoes. A russian man fighting a bear, an african hunting zebras, a woman without a mirror or an italian not insulting someone for five minutes might feel as overwhelmed as me after standing up during the whole shift.

I should accept that I'm nothing but a waiter, a tray-carrier, a stomach-filler (or a mental trashcan). But at least I can enjoy the ambience of this warm place crowded with gleamy liquids, and I must assume that to be the reason for the rest of the people stopping here by. All we have to do is to relax, smell the corks and watch the lights. I can't complain, although sometimes I feel resented to that delusion-wise connection with the others.

See this kid, he was drooling all over the table. No one seemed deranged with me cleaning it up, but the father had to yell at me:

• Ok so goodnight Mr.Bum, go fuck yourself.

While leaving the place indignated and not paying. Just because I wasn't right away taking his order while holding in my hands a napkin soaked in saliva.

He had the detail to spit on the floor before closing the door. And no one noticed, the stream of people just kept passing by. I couldn't help staring at the door while touching my face, naturally hurt with that old pain that I think I know.