Urban view

On a certain October morning in busy Bucharest, on one main road where hundreds of cars wait in line for ages, where drivers would curse at anyone who's bold enough to get out of the line and get on the tramway and get to work with a smaller delay, where a police officer would always make things worse and where you would always think you waste a third of your life waiting in your car, it was foggy. On the right side, an empty field they pretend it's a construction site. Some workers waste their time hanging around pretending to be busy. It doesn't matter, it's just another dreary morning. A few meters away, four dirty children, each of them holding a bag very close to the mouth, take turns in hitting something fallen in the grass. Nobody seems to notice them. Just a bunch of kids who raise themselves on the streets who feed themselves inhaling paint thinner, the cheapest drug you can find at the market. They keep hitting and hitting something and they seem to have so much fun. Still, nobody notices them. Not even the construction workers hanging around the truck. The line of cars finally moves, you get to see them closer. They could be hitting an animal. Kids can be cruel sometimes, especially when they're stoned. In 10 minutes you get to move your car gain two meters to the front. Oh, ya. They're hitting a person. A guy dressed in a red coat lies on the ground. He won't move a bit, not even at the hardest kick. Don't bother to call the emergency hotline. You have to wait half an hour and then somebody would tell you they won't go for jokes. And it's just some street kids playing, right?