Chapter 09: Hidden Cities 04

I am still dreaming about the events of today, when the alarm screams, waking me up. Another work of art. A long line and once again it is just me and those fluorescent bulbs that hide behind the paint, like some wrathful torturer. Strangely, I am very lucky. Even when I want to close my eyes I can stay invisible for several days. Finally, I can stand on the wall and climb toward my goal, the flickering white belly of the devil; I can almost feel the gap at the nose. And then it is over, to finish the work with the intensity and reverence of a god.

In this city, it is said that in the worst months of winter, it is possible to walk on the ice — thin and flexible — between houses. Many of us have walked there, never noticing the houses there, our minds entirely engrossed in wandering the city, relishing the experience of walking without shoes on, or the delight of finding an out-of-the-way place to sit and read, from a book we haven’t heard of, read by a writer we haven’t met.

But I knew it wasn’t true; it was a legend, a fairy tale, a dream; I had never walked there myself, no matter how cold it was, in the worst months of winter.