London. Day 1

London. Day one. Liverpool Street. And cars up and down. and black strange cars with a pilot with a helmet. And a lot of people in the corner of the street. Someone walks, someone else stands. I was there. I and London. The world, centre of the Europe for somebody. London. And the small house and those bricks. Am I in a film? Trivial question. Then i went Camden Town and in those moment I saw the folly. A beautiful folly. Logically and orderly. Everythings in a rights place. How was those Radiohead's song? Camden Town. If i wanted find a colour for describtion it i would find any. Maybe the yellow. Like the sun. O the blu. Like the sea. Sun and sea. Beach. Was Camden Town similiar to beach? Was possible? Yet the feel, smell, the magic was of those there.

A folly. I entered a stand. Clothes, everywhere. And helmets, and bags. And colours, and smells. What was? Japanese or Chinese food. Maybe.

An arabian man asked me: "I, can i help you?"

" No thanks - I answered his - I'm looking. Only."

"Where are you from?" - He told.

" Italy"

"Io amo l'Italia. Spaghetti." He Added.

I thought that the Italy is not only pasta, pizza, cheese. But I answered nothing. I said his Bye and went out to stand.



In Camden Town, if you enter in the market under the bridge, that left the Little Venice, at one point, continuing always straight and making you way between humans, sitting at a table, a moment before the Italian area, there is, with the hat on his head, Mr. Genkis. He is English. Nobody knows what is his real age. To see it doesn't seem to have more than 35 years. Always wears every day, an eskimo green, buttoned up to the last button. He has a long face, large eyes, black. Hair stuck. And unti.

If the you offer half a pint and you sit there he tells his story. That story is an experience. Real or not, no matter. 

Tells you in English. An English all its own. Tends to eat the last words. 

Her story of a man who died after only one day has risen. Him.