(1) Mario says

Mario says, it comes to a point when you blow up.

And after you grew me up with bread and patience, and you implanted the live and let live mantra inside me in places I never even knew I had, and you aprioristically programmed me to swallow at the traffic light, bear with the crowd, shrug when my turn comes, mutter at best, all within myself, when reaching the blinding apex of an outburst of disappointment.

And after I find myself at the end of day, having waited somebody else's turn, having yelded my precedence, having moved aside from the path of an alien wave, at some point by God I even find myself satysfied with my own presumed and unproven moral superiority, for having tolerated happenings happen around me, with absurd and Dantesque tetragony.

And after this thin and oblique gliding, like a lemming, flying low on the hills and around the pillars of somebody else's protruding into my existence, invading my vital space, breathing my pound of air.

At some point Mario says, that's enough.

I can foresee my fortieth birthday coming fomo afar, and a revelation shines to my eyes: I ain't got the time, I ain't got the will, this space is mine and mine alone. At the present date and time, I almost spent forty years
movingasidetoleratingbearinglettingitbe
and now, right now, looking at Mario who is staring at me with those tiny lit-up red eyes of his, I realize I had enough, it is the time now to dig roots into the ground like an oak, come wind or rainstorm, it stands, you move aside. It is time to walk to the counter and pay with the right currency. What I payed with insofar is out of date.

Mario says, I don't have problems anymore: from now on I create them.