Streets of Bucharest (at random)

On sunny days, wandering around, coming back home from work, taking streets at random,

waving at taxi cabs in every intersection,

passing by villas that have seen better times,

passing by brightly-painted, newly-built up-to-date individual houses and half-built "la roşu" still-to-be houses,

passing by the old and the new, the fancy and the common,
the dirt and the soap.


Then I stop to have a beer.

Then I stop to take a glimpse through the shabby gates of forgotten backyards.

Then I stop to feel the colour touches of urban life.

And while I fight my way through the cars parked at the pavement,

while I keep vigilant to the holes and obstacles that I encounter,

while I am constantly aware of the cables untidily knotted above my head,

I can't help but mourn the closed shops and the remnants of mid-Century architecture risking collapse,

and I can't help but regret the glass frenzy of modern architects and the glass imperative of past decades.

Yet I can't help to enjoy the architectural surprises that pop up now and then, either.

As chaos is tiring, as changes are messy, as air is loaded with silent complaints.
As ages have passed. For good and for worse.
As I must take the bet and find my way.
As that is life.