When you cut class you feel like a thief. And where do thieves go after a hit? Into their lairs. My lair is the red, out-of-the-way bench in the park near the river—the very same one where I spent my first night as a hobo—under an immense tree with low and twisted branches, which make it look like an umbrella with a million spokes.
On that bench, with the protection of the umbrella, I’ve seduced millions of stupendous girls, solved the thorniest problems of humanity, become a masked superhero, and devoured family-size bags of BBQ-flavored potato chips, which are my favorite, anyway. Time flows very rapidly down there, surpassing the placid waters of the river. The secret of time is hidden on that bench, and all dreams can become reality.
Well then, this is the right day to apply myself (every now and then I do apply myself, but when and how I want to … ) on my wooden bench, under the protection of the tree-umbrella. I put my backpack aside and stretch out with my knees bent. The sky is only patches of blue, with stark white clouds crossing it. They are not rain clouds, but fresh sea clouds. This makes the blue even more intense. My glance creeps in between the branches of the umbrella and mixes in with the color of the oval leaves, reaching to the sky, and on that sky I see the image of my happiness imprinted: Beatrice. Nobody pays attention to the sky, until someone falls in love. The clouds turn red and become her hair, flowing for thousands of miles, covering the world with a sweet, soft, cool cloak.
I must save Beatrice, if it’s the last thing I do, and I am in the right place to do it. Dreams become reality only on this bench, and so I fall asleep in the silence of the park, like the last happy hobo in the world, drunk on red wine. If we had the time and the right bench, happiness would be guaranteed. Unfortunately, somebody has invented mandatory schooling.