Simone Dante Antonelli

An old bus drives through the streets of Rome. It's a long day. The bus fills up with people and stories. Then empties out. People get on. And get off. Faces, eyes. Expectations. A few encounters. Incidents. Slips. Ambiguities. Thefts. Rows. Confiding exchanges. Confessions. Projects. Plans. Lies. Slaps. Even one hijacking. A well-defined route can become a journey. Each encounter can become a future opportunity or can lay a former wound to rest. Every stop may produce the person who will change your life trajectory. Or not, and the bus carries on. At the next turn, someone else will get on and a fragment of his life will for a moment touch yours.

An old bus drives through the streets of Rome. It's a long day. The bus fills up with people and stories. Then empties out. People get on. And get off. Faces, eyes. Expectations. A few encounters. Incidents. Slips. Ambiguities. Thefts. Rows. Confiding exchanges. Confessions. Projects. Plans. Lies. Slaps. Even one hijacking. A well-defined route can become a journey. Each encounter can become a future opportunity or can lay a former wound to rest. Every stop may produce the person who will change your life trajectory. Or not, and the bus carries on. At the next turn, someone else will get on and a fragment of his life will for a moment touch yours.