On a sunny day, at the end of June, the train station in Amsterdam is filled with people who are trying to find their way home or to their desired destination while dealing with the heat. It is like the station serves as an escape route for reality, because of the presence of the homeless wanderer carrying a plastic bag. For a minute he looks like everyone else there because he quietly waits for his train. But everyone walks past him, nobody looks at him.

His bare feet touch every tile on the floor. The temperature of the floor on which he walks is nothing compared to the heat of desert sand. However, how he looks at the world, lost and alienated, show the scars left on him by life, burning like a hot sun in his soul.

At that moment I wonder if I am also running away from reality, if I am also not able to see the shoeless wanderer. But then I see him looking at me. Could he hear what I am thinking? How did it come to this, how is it possible that we and our neighbors are living juxtaposed to one another? His tender eyes are merely noticed by the departure board which will lead him to wherever his destination might be: the train.

Even before something can be said or done he walks away without his shoes, perhaps away from his own life. And I, without answers about current society, get in.

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