The streets felt disgust at him by chaos. The corwds became increasingly dense and stifling desperately.
Every step a hit, a robbery of voices, an echo of looks in all directions. His life has always been experienced by all, for others that were bullfighthing as you please. The coffe corner, where passers-by stop without delay, and eat snacks in haste, was elected today. Under the sunglasses and hidden in the shadow of the CAP, sat down, and once again blushed with anger to see if on the cover, leaking, that time, unharmed under flashes. On the afternoon that F. Cameron woke up on the big scare in the barren 5-star hotel, with red carpet of anything served to disguise the stain of blood spilled, felt that nothing is more poor than a life filled with people, applause, voices, incessant looks. Everything the (ful) filled was nothing he had left. A life made of image, the futility of undismiss the expendable.
Lived between marathons, shortcuts, racing against time.
Between stage scales, lights and pen scribbles, F. Cameron was feeling his life away, each point in favour of glory totaled empty intervals in her young life. After each concert, each gala, each interview, had no heat, no touch of color, there was the luxury of a hotel room, with walls cold we collected so many others like him, and sometimes women who later shouted as a trophy! After one more a finale concert, envisioned the sage, breathed the moment and waved as if it were the last time. Took refuge in the room, the crowd still roared, the frenzy of the executioners deafened them machines closed violently the window, pulled the hair brightened up to fame and in a fit of selfloathing even threw himself in bed struggling in stain black. Sobbed with despair and spent till hoarseness that kidnapped him from anonymity. Giving a new opportunity to life, made one last journey, where there is only hot homes, thatched roofs, where fashion in on (live), and the jungle in genuinely green sequins. Proudly decided, while the flight attendant kindly replicate some passengers to keep their seat bealts, avoiding requests for autographs, or a better photo angle, F. Cameron, stood up and while she undressed completely smiled:
-”From now on that’s how I will live, stripped of all of you!”