The front of the massive building is a high, concave empty space with a huge arch for a cap. It makes for a perfect shelter if one wants to hide from the sun, but not so great to avoid rain or wind. I look outside through the glass of the door; I am inside the entrance; outside there is evening, drizzle and wind. I have a ten minute break and I decide to smoke a cigarette. I push the door and get out, feeling right away the drizzle and wind on my face, my hair and clothes. The evening fills me up with its smell and I find a corner to light up and smoke my cigarette. I play with the cigarette smoke, watching the puffs get massacred by wind and rain; when this gets uninteresting I look at the street in front of the building. There is construction going on. This side of the street is opened up; from where I am sitting, I can barely make out the three rectangle holes. I think the street is being massacred too, but the gusts of wind and the rain make it look justifiable. Cars try to squeeze on the free lane of the street; there are too many of them for just one free lane and frustrated honks pierce and massacre the evening air. I smoke my cigarette which is now half gone. I don’t mind the drizzle, but the wind I do mind, even though I admit it is more amusing to watch pieces of paper and garbage go round and about by the force of the wind. I follow with my eyes one of these paper whirlwinds. It goes around in front of me and then hurries to the edge of the building and disappears behind the corner.“ Cock, shit, ugly, shit-face, bloke, cocksucker!” I hear a woman’s voice before I can see her. She comes out of the corner, well-dressed in a white, long, linen jacket, a black skirt which is shorter in one of her hips; a white scarf that covers her breast is tucked inside her jacket, and a wide hat. She uses one hand to hold the hat against the wind, and the other hand to hold her skirt tight at the side of her thigh. She turns around facing the direction she came from and yells again in a monotonous, denouncing voice: “Cock, shit, ugly, shit-face, bloke, cocksucker!” She has the appearance of a Chinese woman in her thirties. I am curious to see whom is she yelling to, but my cigarette is almost finished and so is my break. I stand up and decide to go back to work. Too late! She notices me and comes toward me, now and then releasing the skirt only to grab it tighter around her legs. We make eye contact and she approaches me. She watches me straight in the eye.“Cock, shit, ugly, shit-face, bloke, cocksucker,” she says in the same voice. I remain calm. “What happened,” I ask. She walks a circle in front of me, as if following the wind, stops on my side, faces the street and yells again: “Cock, shit, ugly, shit-face, bloke, cocksucker!” She does this with conviction and as if reading from a teleprompter. Ok, I think, someone escaped the loony bin. But I am curious, even at her lunatic behavior. “So, wanna tell me what happened,” I say in a comforting voice. She stares at me quickly and answers in a somewhat quieter voice: “They are all cock, shit, ugly, shit-face, bloke, cocksucker. Did I say this right,” she asks me. “You said it perfect,” I say “but who is like that?” “There are too many, the world is full of them,” she answers “they all are cock, shit, ugly, shit-face, bloke, cocksucker.”  “They are,” I answer. I light up another cigarette. She looks at me again and says: “They are stealers. That’s what they do, they steal your happiness. Stealers, right,” she asks me while she fixes her gaze at my lips. “Thieves,” I say, without removing the cigarette from my mouth. “Thieves,” she repeats after me excited. “Exactly! They don’t want you to be happiness, they steal it from you and they are all over the world. Cocksuckers,” she says while trying to hold her hat with both hands. Her skirt flies up, I am tempted to look but instead I ask her where she is from. “That’s no importance, ok,” she says and gets a grip on her skirt. “Where I am from has nothing to do with who I am. I am one and no one is like me. I am one-hundred percent and not twenty, thirty percent. You go around the world you will not find one like me: I am…” “Unique,” I interrupt her, now with a bit of impatience because the break has been over for some minutes. “Yes,” she answers and then smiles for the first time. “I am unique, but they are stealers, they don’t want you happiness and they share it with each other,” she adds and then walks away from me, following the paper-wind. Right before she disappears behind the other corner of the building, she yells again: “Cock, shit, ugly, shit-face, bloke, cocksucker!” I follow her with my eyes and I think that her cursing is quite complementary to the garbage wind, construction noises and honks of irate cars passing on the only free lane of the massacred street, bleeding inside the belly of this evening.