31 May

“John Ford a París”, Capítol 42

per Maiol de Gràcia

That’s it, folks

It’s all about trying, he said.

And so I did.
But the times where rough and there was no thing to beg for.

Not even a hot soup of filthy shit.

But I did anyway.
And the only thing I got was a backache from walking around like a ghost
nobody could see.
I saw them all but they didn’t even notice me.
Too many things to worry of their own, I guess.
Life can be too tough to be seen,

so I died.

And my story ended like many other stories before.
A collector picked me up and left me waiting in the nearest cemetery.
Looked into my clothes and  found John Ford’s number.

Called him and John came,

and he told’em who I was,

and that there was nobody else to call.

They buried me on a sunny morning

And that’s it.

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