Climbing the crossroads



          They stood there! In the exact same middle. The sun was in its rush hour, I felt the heat hit me behind my ears and the sweat drops falling down my back and diving into the middle. Fucking hot! They are there, indifferent to the presence of this hot pedestrian who cannot cross. The other traffic light is green. The cars hurry like the roadrunner fleeing from the coyote: pee. Yes, I'm peeing too. I squeeze my bladder, I squeeze my buttocks, I dry my forehead, I wipe my arm, I look at the traffic light and it's still green. They're still there, on the pedestrian line, where they shouldn't be, where the pedestrian must pass when it's his turn to cross, mine is now, but I can't cross. I have an idea! I approach. I put one foot on the railing of the pickup, I spit like a mountain goat. I climb to the top. The driver feels my footsteps in his hood. He goes down, starts screaming. I pass his words where the sun does not give me, just as he did when he parked on the crossing. I have to pass two more cars. The hoods rumble, they sound when my feet fall on them. Everyone gets angry and makes a fuss. The light is about to change, I rush down the blue mountain, I jump. I crossed the street like a respectful pedestrian. Everyone shouts rudeness at me. Hereafter, if indiscretion is the rule, it will be from both sides.
F. JaBieR

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