There’s a dead rat on the road, flattened under a vehicle I suppose. It looked like a very realistic painting, a picture drawn on the rough tarred road, a picture slowly disintegrating, decaying, loosing the details.
Its face had a painful expression, mouth open, as though letting out a perpetual, silent ‘ouch’.
Each day it becomes more and more real. Cartoonish, as though death had given it a new life. Or maybe being nonexistent hurt too much.
The details were uncanny, the tail, the small paws, It was like a picture of a moment, frozen in the act of jumping, eyes closed, in excruciating pain.
Next day while passing by I saw that someone had stuck a half-crushed cigarette butt into its closed rotting eye. The stub stood up like a like a small, lensless, pupil less, popping eye. The rat looked like a caricature of an amazed, almost mind-boggled rodent drawn by an illustrator.
The buses here are killers, each day someone is killed, some smaller vehicle smashed by one of these buses. I wonder how someone can be so committed to their work as these private bus drivers and conductors are. One of these days I’m going to be flattened under a bus, stuck to the hot tar on the road, melting into a bubbling, decaying lump - like the rat I saw, a unidimensional, flat, cartoon image.