He was sitting on a bench in the street, in his hand there was a book, heavy with thousands of words and heavy like the traffic of thoughts he had in his mind.
The morbid traffic was there to stay. He had no hurry. He was just looking.
He saw hundreds of cars, and inside them hundreds of people. Sitting in their preoccupations with wheels. Thinking about what they are going to eat, what they are going to buy, how love has crash their lives or how they have crashed into love. How sadness consumes them or how they consume sadness.
An infinity of brains and hearts. An ocean of ideas and feelings. All around him:He sat there for what seemed like hours.
He was trapped in a spiderweb of things to do, movies to watch, words to express and kisses to giveaway. His mind was on a state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of his own misery and others.
He stood up, crossed the street and walked away never turning back. He abandoned the spiderweb of suffering, the terrorizing traffic, and more importantly his mind. He continued living without his mind. But now he had nothing. No spiderweb only dust. No preoccupations only an immense hole caused by boredom.