{"id":47920,"title":"Moving Without Moving","description":"by Matteo Delred","content":"

Visual art by Matteo Delred<\/p>

\"smrdd4oxxhdxv8ry3mjyficcpxaxmihd0w3fgwk1bcolsnhc.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"So I\u2019m sitting there\u2014<\/p>

proper sitting,<\/p>

like you\u2019ve nowhere better to be,<\/p>

in this one-streetlight town<\/p>

that can barely manage lighting its own pavements\u2014<\/p>

and I\u2019m looking up at that outrageous, glittery mess overhead.<\/p>

It\u2019s not like I don\u2019t have options:<\/p>

I could apologise,<\/p>

I could walk away,<\/p>

I could do that thing where you pretend not to care\u2014<\/p>

but the truth is, I do care,<\/p>

and that\u2019s the problem,<\/p>

because the sky\u2019s having none of it.<\/p>

The sky\u2019s out there behaving like a gossip column,<\/p>

spilling stars everywhere,<\/p>

chucking them at me<\/p>

like loose ideas<\/p>

you can\u2019t be bothered to finish<\/p>

but can\u2019t stop thinking about<\/p>

when you\u2019re sitting with nothing else to do<\/p>

but think.<\/p>

\"ghuvrokwoa7jhurcsrqkx6zug3jv7ipvb5ohz5gmn0atms21.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"I went down\u2014<\/p>

the graceless surprise of being introduced<\/p>

to the ground without warning.<\/p>

A forward pitch, a stupid flail,<\/p>

and then that sudden intimacy with grit and dirt<\/p>

you only get when you\u2019re actually in it.<\/p>

My knees objected,<\/p>

my palms stung,<\/p>

but worse was the creeping, sock-soaking warmth in my shoe.<\/p>

Blood, apparently, has no sense of subtlety.<\/p>

And then\u2014well, there it was.<\/p>

A dead deer.<\/p>

Not tragic in the Bambi way,<\/p>

not poetic like in those country novels,<\/p>

just dead.<\/p>

Legs wrong,<\/p>

eyes like dirty marbles\u2014<\/p>

the sort of wrongness that makes you want to look away<\/p>

but also makes you keep looking.<\/p>

Nothing moved<\/p>

except a small fly doing lazy circles above its flank,<\/p>

as if even it wasn\u2019t in a rush to move on.<\/p>

The whole scene had the heavy, awkward stillness<\/p>

of a room after somebody\u2019s just said<\/p>

one of the things nobody\u2019s meant to say<\/p>

about death, politics, or religion.<\/p>

<\/p>

\"tixxgtpd9zimawsvttk9wk8yexlpvzegrjaf5rqi0dugbd4b.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"I lob a shoe her way<\/p>

just as the train doors slide shut\u2014<\/p>

no aim, no warning,<\/p>

like a hail Mary tossed from the sidelines<\/p>

of a game we played as children<\/p>

where nobody\u2019s keeping score of it.<\/p>

She catches it with that quick, startled smile\u2014<\/p>

the kind that says, \u201cWait, what?\u201d\u2014<\/p>

as if the world suddenly decided<\/p>

to hand her something unexpected,<\/p>

something late,<\/p>

like a belated birthday present<\/p>

you didn\u2019t even know you wanted<\/p>

but now, well, you\u2019re glad it\u2019s there.<\/p>

She says thanks,<\/p>

soft and almost shy,<\/p>

like it\u2019s less about the shoe<\/p>

and more about the small human connection<\/p>

that happens in that flicker between strangers.<\/p>

I mutter sorry,<\/p>

caught somewhere between<\/p>

the heat of embarrassment<\/p>

and a surprising swell of relief,<\/p>

the kind of relief<\/p>

that comes from doing something right by accident.<\/p>

\"nhvwkuysswtxywwesrlu8p7bo50hs9koau0h0jazmcfe7sht.png.png?w=1140&v=2\"One man tells the other to fuck off\u2014<\/p>

just a quick, sharp snap of words,<\/p>

like a rubber band stretched too far<\/p>

and suddenly let loose.<\/p>

And the other man?<\/p>

He does.<\/p>

No argument, no backward glance,<\/p>

just that slow, reluctant stepping away,<\/p>

like he\u2019s been sent to walk a plank\u2014<\/p>

not by choice,<\/p>

but because the ground beneath might give way<\/p>

and swallow him whole,<\/p>

like disappearing without a trace<\/p>

is the only way out.<\/p>

Still, he moves forward\u2014<\/p>

each step measured,<\/p>

heavy with a kind of passenger-observed resistance,<\/p>

saying, I\u2019m here, but maybe I shouldn\u2019t be,<\/p>

like a man caught between wanting to stay<\/p>

and needing to leave,<\/p>

like every footfall is both question and answer,<\/p>

tangled, raw, unresolved.<\/p>","urlTitle":"dead-ends","url":"\/blog\/dead-ends\/","editListUrl":"\/my-blogs","editUrl":"\/my-blogs\/edit\/dead-ends\/","fullUrl":"https:\/\/lostcampitos.com\/blog\/dead-ends\/","featured":false,"published":true,"showOnSitemap":true,"hidden":false,"visibility":null,"createdAt":1743288709,"updatedAt":1756509760,"publishedAt":1756509759,"lastReadAt":null,"division":{"id":209850,"name":"Lost Campitos"},"tags":[],"metaImage":{"original":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ppjlbevv9i8vwknxtxfngl5uqrle2ae6kfogusutlqemohvl.jpeg","thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ppjlbevv9i8vwknxtxfngl5uqrle2ae6kfogusutlqemohvl.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ppjlbevv9i8vwknxtxfngl5uqrle2ae6kfogusutlqemohvl.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"metaTitle":"","metaDescription":"","keyPhraseCampaignId":null,"series":[],"similarReads":[{"id":34490,"title":"A Safe Harbour from the Colder Nights of December","url":"\/blog\/a-safe-harbour-from-the-colder-nights-of-december\/","urlTitle":"a-safe-harbour-from-the-colder-nights-of-december","division":209850,"description":"Witness a parade of almost sentient balloons on lamp posts being serenaded with existential poetry from the loudspeaker system turned up to the maximum on Calle Larga. Taste the air, thick with the essence of people\u2019s perfume, cigarette fumes, anise, and oranges in a tango of flavours, a carnival for the senses that leaves residues of Christmas spices lingering on the edges of perception.","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/hyjmfiuawjxy7obit9m1zyjh6nyzhekibxcy7fl63vpgejhd.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/hyjmfiuawjxy7obit9m1zyjh6nyzhekibxcy7fl63vpgejhd.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0},{"id":45809,"title":"Separated Me From Sedentary Life","url":"\/blog\/separated-me-from-sedentary-life\/","urlTitle":"separated-me-from-sedentary-life","division":209850,"description":"Photography project by Matteo Delred. I sit by the window, the glass cold against my palm, watching the city stretch out in front of me like all is possible in the light and noise.","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/uskmfgghjamamuhaydip2oed1hlzesk8drdl6fxoxw9iycw3.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/uskmfgghjamamuhaydip2oed1hlzesk8drdl6fxoxw9iycw3.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0},{"id":44958,"title":"Dancing Darlings","url":"\/blog\/dancing-darlings\/","urlTitle":"dancing-darlings","division":209850,"description":"Dancing Darlings","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ikmbxrmd0fsoikeaboimw5tfbyhul2twxmhiwmvpsfunrj7x.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ikmbxrmd0fsoikeaboimw5tfbyhul2twxmhiwmvpsfunrj7x.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0}],"labels":[]}