Strange

No need for big narratives. Little stories can happen right on our “apéro” table or on the sidewalk. They prove, of course, that the strangest things are not those advertised as such.

What do we have here? The deconstruction of a cliché, with a potential for self-help use. Not a broken heart, but a heart born out of a broken glass (with red wine in it):

heart.of.broken.glass

It’s harder to reproduce with water pitchers, but you can still experience the ways in which a distorted view of the street produces a soundproof environment.

corale.de.verre

At the corner of the street, time stands still once again. A balloon parked illegally, or simply shied away from confronting its perfectly round shape with a regimen of austere straight lines.

geometrical.conflict

4 thoughts on “Strange

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  1. It was a vase. The sort of vase that with a well-chosen flower and the right light could shatter your heart. But looking at the fragments now, you could be forgiven for thinking that it was just a regular glass. I couldn’t help but hate the passers-by who were beginning to gather silently, trying to catch a quick peek on their way to work. Glassy eyes and dull lives, looking for a touch of color in someone else’s red mess. Asking around, I finally managed to find someone who remembered seeing her the night before, sitting at a local dive with a couple of fixtures. One was a brassy stick that sounded as though he hadn’t received a good polish in a while. I’d probably find him hiding in one of the city’s antique shops or flea markets. Finding the other was almost too easy. He was lying in the gutter a couple of blocks from the scene. When I pulled him up he claimed that he’d had too much to drink the night before and couldn’t remember a thing. Right. I’d haul him back to the station, and there I’d make him crack. He’d been described to me as dazzlingly bright, but in the daylight he didn’t look like much. Like a large egg. Soft boiled, I thought.

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