As ever in their history they have seen so many people pass by.
By car too often, rarely on foot.
The rapid transit of thousands of citizens takes on a new value, creates new social relationships, made of brief glances, between people locked in cars.
The intensity and the vibrations of the soul, this time, are given by the shock absorbers, the holes, the pneumatic hammers, the reds, the yellows and the greens.
The prayers, if there are any, are inserted between the gears, between the turns and the expletives, between the crossing of phone calls and text messages.
The traffic now more and more resembles to a cantilena without meaning, to a rosary shelled at the speed of the speed camera.
No longer the scent of incense, clean earth, dignified clothes and spiritual affinity among the people, but mistrust, the smell of lost flower beds, of micro-dust and evil gray scraping.
Waiting for a lower price per gallon, to save two cents.
Some phone apps signal the proximity to a church by reproducing the sound of bells