Three dates with destiny

Guy Dude walks down the Sunday morning street, passing by cafes where the espressos smoke in paper glasses

his mind is overwhelmed by 100 depressing thoughts about his job, and notwithstanding everything's open in this city
on a Sunday morning street

in this city.





Lana del Rey beats with her heart.beat at every step of her beating.feet down the Sunday morning street, passing by boutiques where the inhuman manikins shine, naked without genitalia, and she goes to work

her mind is saturated by 200 alarming thoughts about love, and notwithstanding everything's open... in this city?
On a Sunday morning street, really?

This city.




Uriah Heep moves his blackened trainers on the sidewalk of a Sunday morning street, passing by the Citibank and two pizzerias where the zuppa inglese is tortured by silvery spoon

his mind is overpowered by the feeling of the imminent thrill, which in certain minds may be arousing, but its bottom is always bitter
and notwithstanding everything's... open in this city on a Sunday morning:





Quick! In one second of air and light Uriah Heep runs into the overcrowded Pumper Nic and pulls an immoderately big gun:

"Ladies and gentlemen, keep calm and put your hands up, this is a robbery"

the metallic and nervous voice echoes on plates, chairs, tables and greasy chicken, as Uriah Heep passes picking wallets and wallets and wallets with insane hand:


from behind the counter, dressed like the employee of the month and petrified with a plate full of nothing in her hand, Lana del Rey observes idiotized the shameless latrocinium while, through a lateral door, Guy Dude enters the fast food restaurant absent minded and crestfallen:

"Hey you, don't move!"

The voice of Uriah Heep flies in the air and cuts the Guy Dude's face like a blade
Guy Dude returns from his inner thoughts and sees a giant gun like a silvery cannon aimed at his face

"Put your hands up hijo de puta!"

-Uriah Heep commands hysterically like a dictator 


Guy Dude obeys and rises his arms slowly: behind his silhouette, through the door, Uriah Heep sees two cops entering because... did you know that everything's open, on a Sunday morning, in this city?

Your city:


a shout full of testosterone is heard, immediately followed by a shot and more shouts

2 shots
3, 6, 10 shots


a bullet enters the Guy Dude's mouth perforating it and hitting the head of a cop who falls dead on the floor, while, through the glassy door all stained in blood more cops enter running and shouting incomprehensible words that get mixed with feminine screams and shots:



among a river of wounded customers fallen on the floor, an enormous policeman enters violently

among a river of wounded customers, almost walking on them, like a povincial Robocop

and taking Guy Dude for a thief, he shoots: 4 legal bullets, titanic like exocets

two impact a wall, one shatters an enormous glass full of Diet Coke which explodes like a Molotov

the last one penetrates an eye of Guy Dude emerging through his nape and hitting the chest of Lana del Rey

a same and only bullet, titanic like an exocet

Uriah Heep escapes through a back door pursued by 20 cops and a tsunami of shots



Guy Dude and Lana del Rey lie dead on the floor
she, behind the counter, observed by the schizoid smile of Nic the Hippo from a poster
he, in the middle of the hall, brainless like Saint Lawrence in the torment

dead and united their souls by a same and only bullet which took their lives, a same bullet that married them forever as one only body on a Sunday morning, both, one only flesh in Heaven.


And notwithstanding everything's open in this city. On a Sunday morning street.
My city.













... But really, it's so sunny and mild this Sunday morning street, come, take a walk with me, I invite you.