The mayor of São Paulo

Bleeding gums, apparently, could be an early sign of gum disease. On the carriage of the train, just over the stranger’s shoulder, I am offered a free course in religious instruction. On the rear of the bus, I am presented with the possibility of cosmetic modification, a misfired advert that – I suspect – was intended for the half of the population to which I don’t belong. I feel sorry for the women… they get it worse… at least for now. Above the road, in the all too cold breeze of early May, unflinching reclines a man, and on his body considerably less hair and more muscle than on mine. One day… perhaps men and women can be equal… self-conscious, miserable… and equal. Respectfully I consider each of these adverts and their polite suggestions, their contact details and locations, not because I want to… but because I was once taught to read, and so each suggestion forces its way into my mind, steals a little part of attention that I will never get back. 

Inside Number 58 there is a wall… a wall painted in bright prisms. The prisms are six colours, though at first they were printed in only three, and where the colours overlapped, they fought for the light and so formed new colours. A lamp stands on the opposite wall, modified with a row of dials. The dials call to willing members of the audience, and my wandering fingers set to play, so that the light of the lamp shifts from one shade to the next, illuminating the many coloured prisms of the wall. I watch, and as my fingers turn the dials, those many coloured prisms throw out the light, reflecting it back at me, so that there appear all manner of new colours, shades and shapes that I do not remember having considered before today.

 I leave the building and make my way home,  offered a more convenient way of hailing a taxi, a new investment opportunity, and then I am reminded once again… the lesson for the day… that bleeding gums might be an early sign of gum disease.

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