Nino

One afternoon like any other, I saw myself in front of a puzzling young man with a distant look, disillusioned, angry with the world, in fact, with life itself. With red, irritated eyes like blazing fire which reacts when wood is thrown to it; his battered and stained clothes, displayed a careless and filthy boy. His complexion and thin, childlike appearance were characteristics that made him go unnoticed. His body had a peculiar stench. He smelled musty and rotten. The scars on his head, face and arms were covered with poorly designed tattoos and earrings with which he tried to hide the physical wounds that would only reflect the depth of the damage to his soul. His language was popular. Combined with bad words and constant remarks of "e;That asshole"e;, "e;That bitch"e;, "e;That motherfucker"e;, "e;Life is worthless"e;, "e;I curse life"e;, "e;I curse the happiness of others, I curse whoever looks at me, I curse God Himself as examples of the agony of his existence. This was the first time that I saw a person more miserable and lonelier than me.