The Distance (obviously a fictitious tale)

I have been waiting on this corner for more than four hours. Someone told me that if I am lucky enough, some Chinese could take me with them to their country. I know it is a horrible way of dying, but at least there would be something interesting to remember about my life.

I am lonely and cold. I am also hungry. Every time I expect more from things, the distance between what I want and what I actually have becomes greater. This distance is filled with resistance. And this resistance always produces suffering.

Since I have been living on the streets I depend on leftovers mostly. But this town does not have anything left anymore. Everything here looks so clean, so organized, so soulless. I think I am the only one left in this town. And I did not see it coming.

But the other day I met this girl. I approached her trying to be friendly and positive, although I was feeling the opposite. But she was down as well. She kept telling me about the good old days when five or six guys would chase her around the streets, and she could have nice uncomplicated sex with each one of them the very same day. She was too nostalgic for me.

Sometimes when I have this funny suicidal mood, I try to cross the street with my eyes closed without minding the stoplights. But every time I do it, nothing happens. Not even death comes around here anymore.

I have been on this corner for far too long. It is getting colder and darker. I am starting to believe that the Chinese could not possibly do something like that after all. But, why would they not? I am sure I could be a very tasty meal. In this fucking town, life has never been easy for a stray dog like me.

by David Cerqueiro.