Meanwhile, Central Station and coldness in his Fascist mastodonticità, dirty and degraded in its population homeless, in the mobile, fluid, transient inconsistent reality, wandering in his knowledge of being, seems to have become a huge and messy cupboard where to find my 'yellow shoes'. The utter alienation rises sharply, human contact with one of the many men that live in the shadow of an anonymous crowd of the station. A man in uniform shade is increasingly leading to human contact than other people shadow. Yet another man crosses my ATM scrutinizing glance, a bit 'crazy by now, too dark, wondering what was going down the other side of the station. A din of music and shouts made this forest of concrete more alienating than I had ever experienced.
Manuela Raganati
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