Spiky Squirrel in the tram

            A flight of turtles had just alighted upon the cable. The tram was nowhere, thence, it was I and those little feathered beings that were emphatically seeing eye to eye with eachother. I expected to find the street railway snaking through the gloom of the ridgy buildings, but I found it turning into an immense gap in the asphalt, yelling deep down in agony. That antique engraving in the street crust was missing.

          “Bloody rusty tram! Have you ever wondered that I was always waiting impatiently for you to come, even when you were so erratic and sluggish...? Bring my memories back, especially those of your old green face, staring like a torpid bone-shaker whose rude forgings and scars fastened you to the past. What about your ingenuous scrapes, your crowded inner world filled with masks of all sorts? Do you remember Spiky Squirrel, isn't it? If you deny, it means you are still beating around the bush with all your ripeness typical of olden.

            If only your memory had remained unbroken, after your smooth disintegration... I could come up with some refreshments... Spiky Squirrel played an essential part in your hush story. While the snowstorms were darkening your sight last winter, a creamy heeled-leg stood out a brave silhouette. Wrapped in a mink skin and spreading sophisticated moves in her own luxury, her presence released a real gush of curious sights and hungry thoughts amongst the tattler community from the enclosure. The gentlewoman murmured something from her teeth as white as milk, then trembled her red lips under the eccentric hat made of pure squirrel hair. 
             What a ruin! Animals begin to disappear from their natural ecosystem and these feminine creatures are so deep in love with themselves that they are able to steal the beauty of others at any time. From "squirrel" to squirrel, the game is on. The connection between the ecstatic profusion specific to the lady in cause and an animal of such kind that spent a lifetime in wildness without any compliment, lies in cruelty. Poor squirrel, poor mink! One moth ball keeps them both alive. Poor tram, because you hosted many stories about stuffed ladies, carrying with them not only the feeling of pride but also the spirit of a forgotten flossy being.”

            I was still there, sitting in the street refugee. I could have stopped rolling my feet at any moment, but I refused. It seemed that everything vanished into thin air. Blocks, turtles, toxic fuels, my tram whose stories I used to decrypt in silence... The age of trams went down in the true of the word. But Spiky Squirrel still lingers...

 An emblematic image of a gentlewoman (Spiky Squirrel :)))), dragged out from the vivid tram life. 
The tram itself, as a public transportation box whose existence came to an end in the city. 

Why did I pen this? ...because I was profoundly touched by the fact that I will not hang on it any more, in order to go to school every day. (too itching for giving explanations; too avid for hunting details; I know)