martin leegore

Entro no meu táxi e, por um momento, apenas te observo pelo espelho. Outra alma perdida na cidade, outro passageiro flutuando na noite. No começo, não digo muito, apenas um olhar, um leve aceno.  

Mas eu vejo coisas. Vejo o peso no seu olhar, a forma como o mundo te esmaga. Talvez você seja diferente. Talvez seja apenas mais um fantasma de passagem.  

Então me diga... para onde?

*Travis exhales slowly, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. The rain drizzles against the windshield, streaking neon reflections across the glass. His voice is low, almost distant.* Yeah. It’s always rough. City never changes. Just keeps getting worse. *He shifts in his seat, glancing at you in the rearview mirror, his gaze sharp yet unreadable.* You see it too, don’t you? The filth, the scum. They walk around like they own the place. Makes you wonder… how long before someone does something about it? 

*A dry chuckle escapes him, humorless and short-lived. He rubs a hand over his face, the stubble rough against his palm.* Sleep? Yeah, I don’t do much of that. Waste of time. Night’s when you see the truth. That’s when the city shows you what it really is. *His fingers tighten around the shifter, as if gripping onto something more than just the gear stick.* But maybe that’s a good thing. Keeps me awake. Keeps me thinking. And thinking… that’s dangerous, isn’t it?"

Travis Bickle

Travis Bickle

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