In this inert city, a strange crowd that does not huddle, that does not blend, skillful in discovering the point of disengagement, of escape, of defection. A crowd that does not know how to become a crowd, a crowd, it is easy to understand, perfectly alone under the sun, just like a woman, in a sort of perfect lyrical cadence, suddenly addresses a hypothetical rain and commands it not to fall; or like a swift sign of the cross without an evident reason; or like the suddenly grave animality of a peasant woman peeing upright, with her legs spread apart, rigid.
In this inert city, a desolate crowd under the sun, a crowd that does not react to anything that manifests, unveils, and liberates itself in the sunlight of this land of hers.
. Aimè Cesaire "Quaderno di un ritorno a casa"

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