The Devil on the Avenue, at High Speed*

*A tale dedicated to the crowds of couples, meaning two lonely persons just side by side, from this weird era in which the internet overwhelmingly masters our lives.

     São Paulo downtown view, with Jaraguá Peak's quite small, remaining tract of rainforest on background. Photo by author.  

"For a tree to reach heaven, its roots must penetrate the depths of hell."     F. Nietzsche   

Mid-Fall, when sadness pervades São Paulo people’s hearts, amid signs of nearing Winter solstice, a wish to escape away this megalopolis grow fast up in everyone, although not exactly just because days are getting shorter as the sun goes farther and farther away northwards. Indeed, by then, it grows the number of alone weeping men and women at city corners, many of them not even aware that nobody ever pays attention to their moans.
Despite such a grievous mood all over, no more than a few desirous, unreal men and women, scattered among the huge crowds keep alive and strong in this monster-polis. All of them dwellers of this hellish urban bizarre, sprung up five centuries ago like a drop of fire upon a once paradisiac tract of rainforest. At 20th century’s beginning, the once provincial small town explosively grew, becoming soon one among the largest cities on Earth, sheltering a plethora of slums, starving people, crack junkies, pretty, horny youngsters selling their desire, robbers, old, beggars, abandoned children, fallen teeth. Today, this megalopolis is a huge, bizarre, corrosive urban circle on tropical ground, ruled as always by a very wealthy small minority.
True ‘unreal’ humans have never been more than just a few rebels, romantic dreamers not easily found or seen by ordinary folks. Scattered through the world, seldom bumping into one another, they are above all big loners.
On that misty Fall dawn, after restless strides at home, Mario got out to wandering through the “stone desert”. Once, a popular voice called it the “stone jungle”, but now there’s absolutely nothing in these streets resembling the once wonderful thick forest that existed here. São Paulo is now undoubtedly a huge concrete desert.
Despite some chill, his light, summer clothes were allowing much of his horny, brawny body to be lustfully appreciated while strolling through malls, avenues, squares, alleys, catwalks. Unreal people are fated to evoke the most intense desires in everybody they meet.
A little after his leaving home an impossible encounter happened between two ‘unreals’: Mario and Emilia.
Soon they were fucking on Paulista Avenue’s middle sidewalk near Augusta Street, under those strong artificial lights. As one may easily guess from present days human habits, there was passing drivers unable to paying any attention to their spectacular copulating bodies. In a sad too common scene nowadays, even within cars one may be weeping a lot, becoming able only to look at a smartphone’s screen. Of course, such people are totally unable to see naked lovers in furious copula, no matter how splendid they are excepting perhaps on their screen’s pornography.
Following our unreal lovers’ most delightful sleep, something quite unbelievable took place: a huge crowd of pretty, naked people burst from every corner, as if earthly real on these streets. Nobody there seemed aware of their identities, nor of their aims, nor of their intended whereabouts. Every ‘unreal’ hate to weep helpless and hopeless, thence that spontaneous, explosive uprising against the so said ‘reality’, a name given to this suffocating number of absurd rules, actual halters which turn men and women into nothing but tamed beasts.
Wandering along streets, the unreal crowd was then eager for deep glances, thirsty for love and life, craving for meeting other gorgeous, desiring bodies. Undeniably, unreal people abhor certain real, too real words, grimaces, gestures and attitudes by ordinary humans. Despite that abhorrence, they choose never to confront them, just ignoring too-reals. True ‘unreals’ are only able to loving and fucking all over, by all city corners, all over the world.
As a matter of hard fact, unreal people abhor certain real, too real words, grimaces, gestures and attitudes from human everyday life. Despite that abhorrence, they choose never to confront them, just ignoring too-reals. True ‘unreals’ are only apt to loving and fucking all over, by all city corners, all over the world.
The life blood flows through the lovers’ crowd, driving the countless interpenetrated bodies to moaning and yelling at a same time, as never before seen nor heard on this stone desert.
At a high of the Dionysian feast, Mario and Emilia decide to flee together away, because of feeling that huge orgy was no more satisfying for them. Hidden in a dark, tiny alley, both say to each other:
“I love you”.
“I love you, too.”

Some years after, Mario is no longer able to remember that uprising unreal crowd. We urge him to recall it:
“At an early Fall dawn, amidst that unreal orgy, you met her, Mario. What a spectacular love making scene you and her gave us there to watch! Since then, we, ordinary humans long to see your wild fuck again, Mario! We madly crave for it!”
His reply:
“You wouldn’t understand what happened to us nor on that same day nor thereafter, friends.
Many poets say all dawns bring a new and wonderful world, whether our eyes see that or not. What a blunder! A sweet, hot erotic illusion coming as a mid-Autumn night dream has nothing to do with a new world.
Surely, Emilia and I could never forget that furious fuck right on the Paulista Avenue sidewalk! Yet, our queer fate became sealed by a silly, stupid carelessness or by a fear derived from a too heavy truth.
By mere chance, I had left home carrying a roll in my pocket. I didn’t intend to eat it, simply because I never do it during my walks. Why did that roll happen to be in my pocket, I am sure will never know, since if I would get hungry, it would be easy to buy fresh bread since bakeries never close in São Paulo.
Still during a delightful foreplay that roll slip out of my pocket right onto that damn sidewalk. We let it there of course and continued our love making.
Nearing our climax, as from nowhere came a huge black limousine at full speed, whose driver in red, bizarre clothes saw the little piece of bread on asphalt, turned off engine and got out of car.
That weirdo was just one among the huge mass of loners who cry ceaseless at the gray and dirty city corners. Very excited by the scent of our copulating genitals and by hearing our moans but being indeed impossible for him to see our unreal, copulating bodies, a strongest fury took over his mind. Quite restless, too flushing skin, mortified by envy, feeling hatred, fear, dread, that sinister guy stomped on that loaf of bread in gusts of rage, then entered back his limousine to flee away from our love’s floor like the devil from the cross, at 140 km an hour.
Waking up very hungry after a prolonged, divine orgasm, Emilia and I had no choice but sharing and eating that same kneaded roll.
Undoubtedly, our love’s irreversible decay has begun at that same dawn of the colossal erotic explosion.”
We shut up and left Mario alone, shut up in his peace.
A cemeteries’ peace.