Italian

I entered into a qualunque day, inserting the gettone on the screw, poi ascending the fine scale to the deepest point of the viscere of this city prodigy. The smell is characteristic, a mixture of heat, oil, sensations, absolutely indescribable. The ombre dominates, looks gialla, pastel colors, malinconia nell'aria. Giacche, cravatte, uniformi, tante scarpe. The machine arrives and the next step is one of the other, fretta, illuso, sconfitto, entriamo in which the most of the old sedili imbottiti, gremito di esseri ignoti. On foot, the journey begins with shocks, accelerations, brakes, vibrations, in a precarious balance but sustained by the mie gambe adolescenti.

The stazioni scorono dai finestrini, raccontandomi la storia del paese, nei loro mori di piastrelle antiche. The light remains scarsa and il buio del tunnel mi avvolge con inquietanti presagi, misteri inestricabili. La vecchia scuola mi reclama como ogni giorno. The movement does arrest.

The tide advances imperiously, decisively, transcending me. The vivid colors were vivid, and the light was completely invading. Magliette, pants and so many sneakers. Qualcuno sounds a chitarra sulla banchina, another sells calzini. Qualcosa sows diverse, but the smell is always the same.

I leave the scale and, even if the frame is finite, the mie gambe tremano ancora. Out, the road to my abbaglia in a qualunque day and, infiltrating the hand in tasca, found the blue tessera that my return to this realtà di sessant'anni maturi. I don't agree: life is gone, I thought wistfully, but I am still here.

Spanish

I enter one ordinary day, insert the token into the turnstile, then descend the stairs to the very depths of this urban marvel. The smell is so distinctive, a mixture of heat, oil, and feelings, utterly indescribable. Shadows reign, yellow light, pastel colors, melancholy in the air. Suits, ties, uniforms, so many shoes. The train arrives and swallows us whole, and one by one, hurried, hopeful, defeated, we board this monstrosity of old upholstered seats, crammed with unknown beings. Standing, the journey begins amidst jolts, accelerations, braking, vibrations, in a precarious balance secured by my adolescent legs.

The train stations pass by the windows, revealing the country's history on their walls of archaic tiles. The light remains scarce, and the tunnel's darkness envelops me with unsettling forebodings, inextricable mysteries. The old school calls to me, as it does every day. The movement ceases.

The tide advances imperiously, decisively, sweeping me along. The colors become vibrant, the lights invade everything. T-shirts, shorts, and lots of sneakers. Someone is playing a guitar on the platform, another is selling socks. Something seems different, but the smell remains the same.

I climb the stairs, and although the clattering has stopped, my legs ache. Outside, the street dazzles me on an ordinary day, and when I put my hand in my pocket, I find the blue card that brings me back to this reality of sixty mature years. I realize, life has passed, I think nostalgically, but I'm still the same.