Physical Abuse

The streets of Bucharest are agitated. The traffic tumour absorbs the crowd of living dead. Grey faces of pedestrians are blurred into the fading colours of gigantic blocs. The pride of Communism. The morbid spirit comes to life. A fighting couple. He is a heavy man, his beard unshaved, his fists undone. She’s thin and pale. Her blemish face, her frown and pride can’t tell enough. Her angry voice is seeking desperate reasons. She makes no sense. Suddenly, her words are scattered by his weighty rage. She’s bleeding, but it doesn’t matter. He’s rational and she’s neurotic. Her voice was too loud. These are grey streets with grey pedestrians. Grey, since they don’t care.