That has defined me to such an extent. I zoom through the people of this land without bike lanes. Google has forced me to pass through the Duomo and through these human fields who stormed the streets for no reason I know of. As I avoid  just by the blink of an eye to kill a child running across a street whose owner isn’t clear (is it bikes? Is it people? Is it little coffee tables?), I think that the only joy I get from this is in having set the navigator in English and hearing its mispronunciation of the street names. As I approach crossing the square and then Corso Vittorio Emanuele 2 (read it with an English accent), I get blinded by all these fucking billboards for fashion brands new season. Fashion week has just finished, a guy at the bar reminds me some hours, three cocktails and two shots later, and everybody wants to fuck, while being too presumptuous to admit it and actually do it. I have not drank that much in a long time, I think as I clench my teeth. I hate myself as I find my body filled with hate towards other people and this world full of advertisements LEDs when I’m at the peak of my light sensitivity: trails and ghosts stay in my vision every time I move my eyes. All these men are wearing white shirts and tight, elegant-in-a-boring-way trousers, always of the same colour of the blazer, always blue or black, and all these women are wearing heels and skirts and fake eyelashes. I think I’m a presumptuous asshole, but they’re also worthless shits, so we have found each others in this awful balance. They’re drowning me in this quicksand and I can’t carry the weight of the end of this world any longer, I think, as I bike across this city in my light blue blazer, without looking like a person who’s struggling. Maybe someone else is thinking the same, but where are you? Why are we not burning every single giant Gucci sign positioned on the top of a skyscraper? Why are we not throwing rocks at each Victoria’s Secret that muds our vision with its polyester silk push-up bra? I have so much rage inside me, damped by the million decisions I have to make each day to ensure my survival in this sub-par dream of a society. Alive, but at what price? Inflation keeps rising and I barely know what it means in this economy that is basically a bunch of men jerking off and complimenting each other’s intelligence for understanding some jargon that, more than meaning something, is a membership badge. Fixed interest rates my ass.