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In the rich city, we find it particularly hard to distinguish dream and reality. In the morning we (the baby, you, I) arrive by train. As we get out at our destination and walk toward the elevator, we see on the opposite platform a large crowd of refugees who are following the directions of the police and slowly pushing down a flight of stairs. The sight is so haunting it makes us tremble. It is hard to look over there, hard not to look. All day the crowd of refugees stays in our memory. And during the night we dream of it. Exactly the way we saw it. Everything is the same: our getting out of the train, seeing the refugees, the policemen, who are big and looked almost padded, our trembling, our reticence and curiosity to look in their direction. And how we forget our baby for a few moments. The moment we check to see if he is still in his stroller, we realize it is too late for that now.

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