Loneliness under the sad Maputo sunrise .
We all are masks. Monster faces in the far distance, but behind them probably we will meet our equals. We are all just terrified tinkers looking for some love and a hug now and then.
The grey clouds looked at my Princess on the dock.
I sat in the dirty room of the cheap Andalucia hotel. The place is perfectly African: dirty, noisy, warm and the elevator does not work. The whole city lies in front of my room. I can see a man on the mirror writing these words and avoiding asking him questions.
There is not place for questions when travelling Africa. The wind is full of answers I will probably do not want to hear, but I know It’s time to go home. Merry Christmas to everybody.
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