Proceeding in Bovisa… i introduce myself to a group of rubber tyres

I reach a path, parallel to via Cernobbio, by car and with a schoolmate next to me, a 100 m straight on. The path is interesting itself, because right next to it, there are cars passing by very fast, ready to get on top of the flyover of via Monteceneri, without noticing, and not really caring, of what happens behind the trees and next to the asphalt river. The path is in a small area, but full of meanings and stories to tell. The path ends at what we call a dead end, which probably isn’t so dead at all. Two parallel lines of dirt guide me through the area, telling me that many cars passed by before i did, mortifying Nature that was trying to get the upper hand over that corner of forgotten city. I probably should feel less lonely, instead a feeling of fear gets the hold on me: no normal citizen would have any good excuses to stop around this area. How many urban explorers can be there? Not enough to justify the absence of grass in those two parallel lines. These tell me that, easily enough, desperate people passed through here: people with no home, searching for a place to rest or to hide; they tell me that probably young couples stopped around here, hoping for some privacy (a bit irresponsible); they tell me about young people searching for not physical trips; they tell me about townsmen who didn’t really got bother asking where the closer dumper is, and flung their leftovers in the first forgotten corner of the city; they tell about watchers payed, probably not enough,  to guard abandoned buildings, now property of big shots. I get confirmation to some of my thoughts: any kind of trash along the way and a watcher parked at the beginning of the path, who stares at us with a bit of suspicion.

Apparently for no reason, at a certain point the two parallel lines become four, and then after few meters they are two again, forming an isle in the middle: it’s an artificial formation, but it seems more natural than other elements, with it’s origin given by time passing by. My attention is drawn by a group of rubber tyres camping in the middle of the weeds. They seem to have been there for a long time, i can tell from the grass growing between the free spaces left from one tyre to the other. They are observing me, not i observing them. They question me about my presence, asking me if i’ll leave them some company: i may have the appearence of a rude citizen, but not of a lover seeking for privacy (these don’t even get off the car, probably), nor of the drug addicted, and i don’t wear uniforms. They get all excited for a while, cause i take a picture of them: to bet on vanity helps to be welcomed and accepted. It seems as if they are shining, under a winter sun, as if they cleaned up for the occasion. But it’s only imagination: they are completely covered with dust and smog, and their only compagnon is lonliness. Right next to them you can see cars and trains passing by fast, but no one seems to notice, and they are abandoned to themselves. I wonder how long it’s going to take before someone will take them away and give them new emotions? It makes me think of a music video clip, wwhere there’s only one person standing still, and everybody around walking more and more faster: nobody is going to notice that lonely person.  To be noticed, many others should stop next to him with no reason, and then maybe people would start at least to turn their heads. I start feeling melancholy. And lonely. I turn my head and I observe the railroad, where the path ends. There are no trains passing by at the moment (they are always late: they expect to use one railroad for three lines... at the end disasters happen, as it did not to long ago). And the feeling of lonliness gets higher.