I’ m travelling. I’ m leaving a city behind me for another city. I hope a different one. I suppose, someone else must be travelling to reach the city that I’m leaving. Maybe the journey takes place only inside us. Maybe the city itself is only inside us. What indeed is a city, rather than the way we see it. Violence follows me everywhere. For a while the colors fade and the place loses its power, I'm not sure where I am. How different is a tourist town from a real one. Is fascism something acquired or something that we are born with?