Allegedly

Allegedly, tablets were scattered on the tram tracks, and they were also stepped on, and various items were thrown out of the store, and fires were set on the tracks. In the store, the staff members fled to the panic room and were terrified, but not excessively. The trams were already moving slowly, patiently stopping in front of the fires, with flames reflecting on the windows, and black-clad riot police began to gather on one street corner. One of them was sucking on a spherical lollipop, but his boss told him to put on his helmet. In response, the defiant policeman threw the lollipop into the fire, where various gadgets were burning with black smoke.

One policewoman didn't understand why they had to set fire to these expensive items, why didn't they just loot instead? Her daughter didn't have such a tablet. It would be nice to pick one up from the ground; it's still in its packaging, and the thin plastic layer is still intact on the box. But there are cameras everywhere, and if she were to pick one of these gadgets up and keep it, she would surely be fired. She doesn't want that because she had to do so much to be here in the ranks. Her grandfather got citizenship because he served in the military. Her grandmother worked in a hotel and never learned the language. Her father was a helper in a grocery store, and her mother was the owner's daughter. She herself went to school here, always a good student, always casting a wink toward the police station next to the schoolyard. Incredibly handsome boys were running around there.

The policewoman's name was Mossane (beautiful), and the man who threw the lollipop was called Kumakh (the leader). I didn't know them at all. Later, I will have a lot to do with them. I don't even have a clue who they might be. However, there is much stronger evidence behind the intuition, something we dare not speak to anyone about.

My name is Lofem, and I have just come out of the store with a bright red plastic bag in my hand. What did I buy? Tortilla wraps, salami, cheese, pickles, and salted roasted peanuts. I am walking among the construction scaffolds. Behind them are half-buried pits. The road itself has been completely flattened. There is no traffic here, so it doesn't matter what the traffic lights show; I can cross whenever I want. Here is the gas station where I have stumbled past so many times. Between the two houses that still stand before the tracks, there is a black sofa. Someone has slashed the upholstery with a sharp knife. But I keep going; my feet lead me, curious about what might be beyond the tunnel, where the communal warehouse blends into the colorful graffiti. And behold, I can already see the artificial turf football field. They are playing with great enthusiasm. Rain is drizzling down, like when you gently open the shower. We don't have this at home because the drops are much larger and colder there. I have to pass under the bridge, three figures are chatting, they don't pay attention to me.

The match seems lively, although I don't understand football at all. They shout, they taunt loudly, the cage resounds when they hit. The ball can't fly out because there's a fence at the top. I stop to watch, but I don't cross to the other side; it would seem intrusive. On the side of the fence facing me, a family stands watching the game. A little boy, maybe eight years old, clings to it like a little bird or a little monkey, grabbing and jumping with both feet. He could be eight. His younger sister, maybe four, is holding onto her father's right hand. In a pink dress. Her hair is woven into about nineteen swaying braids. Strong braids, they stick out everywhere, with pompoms at the ends. White sandals clatter on the asphalt. The woman's enormous crown is covered in silk, but you can still see her carefully woven locks. Her arm might be as thick as my calf, and her hips could make up two of mine. Beautiful. And the guy, tall and lanky, his braided hair hanging beside his ear. Thin and muscular, so much so that I feel like nothing and no one, unworthy. In his other hand, he holds a massive umbrella over his wife. Rainbow-colored. He even twirls it a bit. Reminds me of the singing cicadas from my childhood. I think that this family is sacred.

Love and good cheer flourished there. Freedom and vitality. The ancient past, when people saw stars light up in the sky, and the distant future when they will travel to planets. I bowed inside myself, like a sleepy poet with a heart pounding from too much coffee and cigarettes. I just watched these wonderful people; I didn't really believe my eyes, and my mind didn't understand why we didn't need