Tell me, is it true that your nome d’arte has nothing to do with cats? Is that the blood of the Cherokee Indians in your veins? Now, when we are no longer kids, and when we are parents to kids, have you found a way to tame your restlessness… Are you finally free and how many steps are there to New York?
And now I bid farewell to you, Cat. Slow down the images, add new colours, melt the keys. I will bring this letter that she will tear to its end. New York must be beautiful while the autumn is coming.
Autumn is poetry, and I agree to what I usually don’t do. I turn the radio on. But only because I know whose voice will be there. Let’s all switch to the same waves, let’s find each other. In the city of enteral summer I will try to cross the street and find the autumn . It will be the autumn of a completely different city.