Mordidas, by Renata Régis Florisbelo

He was crossing the avenue. A figure that seemed to take off from the stage, from the signpost. My gaze was also blurred and I did not know if I looked at him in his firm steps breaking the busiest crossing of the city, or if I kept aiming at the cars that came to tear that asphalt studded with people attentive and inattentive.

In his direct hand he carried the cake and in his left the plastic bottle of orange juice. And her body walked alternately steps with bites and swallows, packed by the roar of the engines, sirens and horns, nothing docile. To me he resembled an emoji inserted in a photo, an icon of joy that detaches itself from the context Yes, it is possible to reach Nirvana by eating cake at the red sign for pedestrians in full signage. The clock on the avenue panel was exactly 12 o'clock. Yes, it was time for lunch, mobile and walking meal. The cake is still happy with a mouth converging on it.

 

Author: Renata Regis Florisbelo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPK26PvDbwI&feature=youtu.be

 

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