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05 January 2012

Jas was here

This morning a brown face was printed on the cover page of the local newspaper: the usual guy, this time black, but yet the usual sad story ended in death.
I feel bad for it but I can’t do much: we eat watching and hearing bad news on tv, we live in constant drama while our lives go on and we get used to it.
His name was Jasin.

I went to my office and started to turn over the pages of the economic newspapers and like a balloon swelling with awareness, lucidity popped out.
Jasin... Jas! I knew his name only pronounced not written and I didn’t recognize his face on the newspaper. Jas damn! He was little and short when years ago I met him at the gym, the guardian's son, always kind and silent. Jas who played tennis-table with me and who got damn tall on his adolescence that he looked like a dressed lamppost!
Jas who you could meet on the stairs running down to the gym, or in the parking smiling in his white teeth and getting his arm slapped!
Jas who ran away from home the xmas day and who had been found frozen dead yesterday in a building under construction.
So now this sunny day has a reason to be a sad one.

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