Voy Gritando - Por La Calle

Elias walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He wasn't running from anything, and he wasn't chasing anyone. He was just full—heavy with the kind of words that don’t fit into text messages or quiet conversations over coffee. He felt like a pressurized steam engine with a jammed valve.

The streetlights of the Barrio Sur didn’t just illuminate the pavement; they seemed to vibrate with the hum of the city’s secrets. It was 2:00 AM, the hour when the line between sanity and exhaustion blurs into something poetic.

The man paused, his hand on the window frame. For a second, the silence of the city felt fragile, like it might shatter. Then, surprisingly, the man let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "Barely! Go home, you lunatic!" Voy Gritando por la Calle

He started small. A low hum in the back of his throat as he passed the shuttered bakery. By the time he reached the park, the hum had sharpened into a whistle. But it wasn't enough. "I am here!" he suddenly shouted.

Elias kept walking, his pace turning into a rhythmic strut. He began to chant it, a mantra for the midnight wanderer. He shouted his dreams, his grocery list, and his favorite lyrics. He became a one-man parade, a megaphone for the mundane. Elias walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets

By the time he reached his own front door, his voice was a raspy ghost of itself. His throat burned, and his neighbors surely thought he’d had a breakdown. But as he turned the key in the lock, the weight in his chest was gone. The street was silent again, but the air still felt like it was ringing.

Windows began to slide open. A man in a bathrobe leaned out of a third-story flat, squinting into the dark. "Hey! Shut it!" He felt like a pressurized steam engine with a jammed valve

Elias looked up, a manic grin plastered on his face. "I'm alive, Antonio!" he guessed at the name. "Are you?"