walking

Long walks in a foreign city, disoriented but locked in, mostly in the head, walking everywhere in old shoes, refusing to buy new ones, thinking of things I want to do, of this contraption that is life, caught up by passers-by puffing on their cigarettes, in sweaters and suits, then a man stumbles out of a restaurant, smoke drifting out the door, that of food and also cigarettes again, and I stumble in myself, this city a city of smokers, I keep trying to avoid them, but I keep ending up sitting next to them, men smoking cigarettes and drinking beer and laughing… a nice end to a night filled with long walks in a foreign city.