There are people for whom time measures in kilograms of paper, scrap-iron, iron plates and cans and many curses without certain addressee. There are people for whom this way is essential for surviving, the only solution for obtaining bread, a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of grog. Furthermore, there are people who, despite the fact they breathe the same air with the others and their universe gravitates around the ash pans, they are still waiting for a better tomorrow.
The way to Tomesti- on a day when green is shooting through the branches or on the waste grounds- reveals on both its sides, a formless world, congealed within a time which, for the people expelled into another reality, denying any trace of humanity. The masonries of the communist factories- affairs more or less prosperous- definitely spots the passenger's retina. The overalls, the strange people, tricks beyond the rubbers, a train which is crossing the road, spreading a lot of rust.
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