With a freshly mopped city I came and I searched for a shithole…

the place where drunkards rule…

where beggars sit and forget the society outside.. 

hookers who write poems in their platonic serenity. 

I searched and I searched and I found it floating over the waves…on the corner of a crossroad with broken streetlights. 

I thought of redemptions…I thought of an evening of country music and raw fleshes…

And I entered in this place of tough and honest singularity…

When I got out I was sucked, I was in trance of an overwhelming chaos. 

The boat sailed…the boat was kissed with unbounded winds…

and I was giving whiskey and lullabies to my caged animal. 

Some of these obliged crowds still live out of trash cans…

it’s filthy but it’s surreal in a way you can only understand if you never had anything to live for.

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Photograph: Kristina Krause.