X-Mas is already around the corner. When I passed from this road, almost at dead of night, my glance didn’t fall on the shining windows. My glance fell on a story that I don’t know. The window’s light, in the quietness of the night, attracted the attention of the few people passing by. It was a bright light in complete contrast with that forgotten spot, unperceived, just few centimetres from that window. I waited a bit and I saw that no one turned his attention to the spot that drew my interest. A black bag, almost motionless, in that dark corner of the gallery. A man in a black bag, just like the ones used to contain corpses. I don’t know his story, I would have asked him about it but I was sure he would have not appreciated my curiosity. During these times, we are used to see more and more of these persons living on the fringe of society. They are persons, they are not banks. Probably they do not deserve the attention of the highest level of the politicians whose glance keep far away from them, very likely even more far away than the one of the passers-by: indifference.
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