It was 12 noon and the heat was unbearable. The man in his blue car looked at the long line of cars in front of him. The return home was always the same: queues, heat, noise. At that time all cities must be the same, the man thought as he listened to his cell phone ring. It was his wife who called. I ignore her. He watched the thousands of cars on the streets and thousands of people behind the wheel trying to get home quickly. Street vendors showed their merchandise: candy, cigarettes, water. A man with a scar on his face stared at him. The man in the blue car shuddered. He thought that danger, chaos and stress were not unknown words to drivers who honked the cars as if the noise could clean the streets, blow them up in the skies, make shortcuts. The man wiped the sweat from his forehead and cursed under his breath.

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The cell phone rang again. He took it and turned it off. He had been out of work for a month, but the man had not yet told his wife. He feared his reaction, so every day he went out as if he went to the office and returned after wandering the city, looking for ways to be honest with his wife, to tell him the truth. But when he got home and saw the grumpy, tired and hysterical woman, he was silent. Teresa always told him that he was useless, a coward and a failure. They had only been married for five years, but for three years everything was going wrong between them. Teresa blamed her husband for having gotten pregnant, had to leave her job and gained weight. According to her, he was to blame for all his tragedies and misfortunes.

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There, in the middle of the street, with thousands of cars honking, the man thought that perhaps his wife was right. He turned on the cell phone again and saw the missed calls. Maybe he was a coward, unable to tell his wife that he no longer had a job, that he also wanted to divorce, that he no longer loved her and that he would leave the house. Maybe he was a coward because he didn't know how to tell the boss that he was not to blame for bad sales, lost items. There, in the heat, he knew that his wife was right and made him want to disappear, fly, but his body was heavy, also his head. He turned to the window and realized that the man with the scar looked at him insistently. With rage accumulated, he approached the horn and squeezed it hard. The deafening noise released him.

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In the middle of the line of cars, the man builds the speech he will tell Teresa, the arguments. Repeat the words silently, think about the tone and gestures. He thinks that by telling his wife the truth, he will free himself from the theater: that of work and his relationship as a couple. Of course Teresa will shout, insult him, try to hit him, but he will not change his mind: he will ask for a divorce and leave the house. With that thought, the man feels liberated, even happy. He takes the cell phone again and looks at a text message from his wife. Delete it without reading it. A brief smile appears on his face, a strange glow in his eyes and suddenly he feels that there is not so much noise or heat outside.

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The car line does not move. Time passes heavily, slowly. The man puts the cell phone back in the seat. Close your eyes making an effort to forget everything: failed marriage, unemployment and that hellish tail. He wanted to abstract more and turned on the radio. The loud music turned off the noise of the street, the sound of car horns, the echo of their problems. There it was, when the man with the scar on his face took out a sharp, long, silver object from his pants. He sneaked up behind the blue car and reached for the man with his eyes closed. The sharp object cuts the skin, quickly, deeply. The man with the scar takes the cell phone and puts it in his pants. The injured man asks for help and the cell phone rings once, twice, three times. In the midst of chaos and noise, some sounds are ignored.

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