The guardian
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A small box tumbles down the stairs of the underground subway. It is closed, square, covered in ivory-coloured silk. It stops at the feet of a homeless man sitting on the ground next to a drinks machine.
The intrigued man picks up the small box and opens it. His tired eyes widen at the sight of a chrysalis. He is incredulous and amazed as if he has just discovered something too precious for him.
Still astonished, he hurries to close the box as he gets up from the ground and, without bothering to retrieve the offerings he has received, climbs the stairs of the subway until he reaches the outside.
The homeless man looks around in dismay, scanning the crowd, searching for the owner of the precious as if he knows exactly who he is. He holds the small box with his left hand while with his right he wraps it to protect it. He walks along the pavement and takes a good look at every passer-by he crosses in his path to recognise their physiognomy. The well-groomed and well-dressed passers-by reciprocate with indifference.
It is about to rain.
The homeless man sits on a bench under the bus stop shelter.
He opens the little box again.
"I'm so sorry honey..."
He closes it again and clutches it to his chest.
He lies down on the bench, and covers himself with some newspaper sheets he has retrieved from a nearby rubbish bin.
A car passes in front of him with great speed, causing the sheets to fly away.
He remains motionless, already asleep with the little box protected in his hands.
It begins to rain.
The intrigued man picks up the small box and opens it. His tired eyes widen at the sight of a chrysalis. He is incredulous and amazed as if he has just discovered something too precious for him.
Still astonished, he hurries to close the box as he gets up from the ground and, without bothering to retrieve the offerings he has received, climbs the stairs of the subway until he reaches the outside.
The homeless man looks around in dismay, scanning the crowd, searching for the owner of the precious as if he knows exactly who he is. He holds the small box with his left hand while with his right he wraps it to protect it. He walks along the pavement and takes a good look at every passer-by he crosses in his path to recognise their physiognomy. The well-groomed and well-dressed passers-by reciprocate with indifference.
It is about to rain.
The homeless man sits on a bench under the bus stop shelter.
He opens the little box again.
"I'm so sorry honey..."
He closes it again and clutches it to his chest.
He lies down on the bench, and covers himself with some newspaper sheets he has retrieved from a nearby rubbish bin.
A car passes in front of him with great speed, causing the sheets to fly away.
He remains motionless, already asleep with the little box protected in his hands.
It begins to rain.