Patrizia Cavalli

The happy ones are almost always also vulgar; happiness has a way of thinking that's rushed and has no time to look but keeps on moving, compact and manic, with contempt in passing for the dying: Get on with your life, come on, buck up! Those stilled by pain don't mix with the cheerful, self-assured runners but with those who walk at the same slow pace. If one wheel locks and the other's turning the turning one doesn't stop turning but goes as far as it can, dragging the other in a poor, skewed race until the cart either comes to a halt or falls apart.

From behind, standing, from a distance, in passing, the taxi meter running, I'd watch her, I'd watch her hair, and what would I see? My stubborn theatre, curtain won't fall, my always-open theatre . . . Best to leave as soon as the show begins.