Down the university steps to one of the main avenues
Not many people spoke my language here
A voice in my head repeated that the climate here was hot
It was my father's voice
it's so hot, it cooks, people believed funny things
From different places false stories about the past
People Noticed me I noticed the other people
Each so different so unique
The wide streets
Calm young adult students
With their back packs and suitcases
The temperature just reaching twenty five
The parking inspector in a world of his own
Navigating narrow spaces between cars
Telling himself false stories about the past
The man in the newspaper stall
Looking out to the passers by
Also telling himself false stories of the past
None the wiser to the true nature of the world
For that never paid the bills
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