The temporaries of Calea Victoriei

It is still hot on the streets, but it’s far less stifling than it was a couple of hours ago. The oven which is Bucharest slowly cools down, and the thronged streets shows this is an expected and appreciated moment of the day for the inhabitants of this interesting city. For almost its entire length, the fashionable Calea Victoriei is crammed with small coffee tables in front of small coffee shops, eateries every step, beer terraces, and ice cream vendors every corner. Indeed, a cool evening is all it takes for the people to take to the streets in something resembling an exodus in search of comfort.

My steps are slow, my eyes absently take in the people mingling around me, my thoughts are indicating that I do not have any major mental debate over some urgent matters. Put it simple, I am just a very relaxed human being, slowly making my way to the hotel, barely aware of other human beings coming and going, laughing, shouting, drinking, pushing, shoving, obviously happy for the coolness of the evening. The windows of the shops are all lighted up, the mannequins dressed up to nines are silent witnesses to this entire street show. The models are watching from their illuminated posters, and their aloof expression is one that says “well, what can you expect from humans”. Typical.

I am not interested in the people at this moment in time, as I find the colourful windows and their non-human inhabitants more interesting, to be honest. Different still silhouettes, all gazing upon me with an attitude of condescendence, looking down their noses to me in an aristocratic manner, lady to seamstress sort of attitude. We know who you are, fellow, and we know what you are. Your presence is tolerated, as long as you understand your station.

Well, I beg to differ here, for I am never content with my station in life. I am an eternal challenger, so my response is that I do not give a hoot on what they think about me.

After all, who’re they? A human invention, a copy of our own understanding of life, transposed in plastic or paper in some well-lighted windows. They are, what’s the word…er, temporaries. I will still be here when they are dismantled and taken off to the storage, when this shirt or these trousers are out of fashion. After all, being human never cease to be fashionable. Who’s laughing now?