Just a Santa

Translation Notice

This article is a work of fiction originally written in Italian. It has been automatically translated to English using an AI tool. The rhythmic and narrative qualities may differ from the original.

The line moved slowly.

Rot looked with greed at the completely deserted streets: he wished he wasn't there.

He gained ground little by little, playing with the clutch and accelerator, stuck between whoever preceded him and whoever, behind him, was even more exasperated. Life, on that avenue leading to the cities of the Angels and the Silvans, expressed itself only in a long snake of waiting cars.

He thought back to the afternoon meeting, to all those lofty numbers casually recited about the unexpected results of that year. He felt like just a drop of ruby blood in a hemorrhaging audience that no one seemed to hesitate to ask for more and more.

The enthusiasm of his friends and colleagues, who applauded ecstatically, had embarrassed him. That mass of red hats and clothes came from a long and noble tradition. When had they become an industry? When had he lost his dignity to become the abject creature he felt himself to be?

"What would you like?" The voice that seemed to pose the quintessential existential question woke him from his musings. "A McChristmas deluxe and a medium coke, thanks," he replied impulsively. He had to wait just a few moments, during which he gathered change from his red pockets, before the hand handed him the bag. He poured the coins into the coin collector and hit the gas. In the distance he heard words abandoned to the wind: "Happy holidays again!" He didn't reply.

While taking the exit to the seaside promenade he took a bite of the sandwich and threw it on the back seats. The usual anonymous taste almost disgusted him. At every pothole or road bump the utensils clinked, among the rest of his belongings, in the sack tied on the roof.

He didn't hesitate much in choosing where to stay. He parked where he had spent the last few days, under the usual abandoned bridge. He took another bite of the sandwich to quell his hunger and, reclining the seat for the night, convinced himself that next year everything would be better.

Art by @rotten_jaw