The pigeons and all the crawling creatures come out of the closet! They take the streets! They dive in the rubbish bins and peck at inattentive tourists!
They shit at glittering monuments, spit on the latest restaurant concepts, and run for presidents.
“The world needz NOTHING!”
“Blank Generation” assumes its hereditary defects and says, “Do not even think we’re going to be quiet beyond precariousness.”
And pick up on everything you can grab.
They are not beautiful, convenient or sanitary.
Underneath the rocks of the Cais do Sodré, the cockroaches also leave – they do not wash their feet – and together march to Maxime Sur Mer for the event of the year, in which the trash embraces its roots closer to the gutters, …