Men will gather around everything. Around someone fixing his car, planting his garden, around jewel shop robberies, backgammon games.
This whole culture of the participative stare.
The same applies in television. In love relationships too. That dormant equation that seeing equals acting and/or participating.
After the attacks, right next door to the grocery store-that brown coffin casket set against the wall along with the photograph of the victim-everyone gathered around. Old men pointing at the sidewalk, looking for blood, for the exact point the poor soul hit the pavement, for something. It’s a unique sight for this small town.
Next door the supermarket was still working.
In the next hour or so, everyone was talking about it, like it was their first murder or like we are living in a society where violence is just born.
And me all this time wanting to write the small history of our mouth. The basic route to conquering somebody else. If you are crafty enough. The inner texture so different from that of your skin. If you ever stick your hand or just a finger in your mouth, it will find itself inside of what we call an organism. The thing protected by your skin that is. Your survival and your pleasure depend on it. Like your different approaches to get closer to someone else. Like in the slogan, “Half the pleasure lies in licking.”
The other half?