Edward Hopper
Nighthawks

LA RECENSIONE

Those few scraps of paper that have withstood the relentless brushes of the street sweepers are enjoying a hint of wind. They're doing nothing but rolling around, mixed with a few leaves escaping from a nearby park or abandoned by a neglected plant.

No car passes by to highlight the real color of the asphalt with its headlights. No noise. A cat hides because it heard a dog barking in the distance. Maybe it wasn't even barking at him. Who knows.

The shop across the street has been closed for a while. They always forget that damn cash register in plain sight. One day or another, someone will smash the window and empty it. Or maybe they leave it there on purpose because they know I'm here to keep watch. But are they that sure? What a bunch of idiots.

Not that there was a damn insomniac soul tonight. Not even leaning out the window because of the heat. Maybe they'd notice the light, come down for a drink, exchange a few words, and this night that seems endless would start to shorten. Nothing.

Only me, here inside catering to the usual patrons. Alone like an abandoned dog. Alone like them, without an owner. We are many stray dogs that find ourselves staring at the same bone every night. One reflects or forgets, dozes off. Hey! Someone's in company. Must be a friend. Hmm, not bad. Or maybe she's a lady of the night, and he's offering her something before taking her to work the streets. But no. No, no.

What do you want to drink? Come on! At Phillies, just 5 cents. Come in large numbers! Nothing. Just three dogs, and with me, four. Alone.

Adda passà 'a nuttata...