Night

This Monday night is cold and my throat hurts. But I found the reminiscent of a more beautiful night, so long ago, back in 2003.

Night

Ah ... the night air is pure magic.
The smell of an ending, cooling day, the feeling of calming emotions, God could not have invented anything better than this smooth coolness ... The smell that comes in the wind is everything and is nothing, it's a bit of people's lives; all of it is calmed down and catalysed; the buzz fades to give place to the delightful activities of nightlife... bars, baths, cafes, books on the balconies ... and clubs, with their rowdy girls, instinctful boys and drugs and music and craziness, the clubs are isolated from the healthy night air, but they enjoy the darkness and the diversity of life through which it passed.

The night is of restless hearts.
It is of the moon. Owls. Cars. Of people and stray dogs ... The night after the pizza was Paulista Ave. and their exhibitionists cars, the nooks between buildings, the stream among the flowers, talk under the moon, a guitar in the heart of Sao Paulo.

The night is a mother of loves, a grandmother of passions, a nanny of lovers. She cares for the cats on the roofs and the beggars sleeping under the tents in which they sell trifles during the day.

It's the night.

The night brings me a melancholy full of satisfaction.
And my brother brings me a serenade of love.