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This is his name. He is the oldest son of a gypsy family of five that lives on the streets of Cluj-Napoca . They are from Bistrita, but 'We have better chances of earning some money here' the father said. 'It is a larger city, and people are kinder here' . They told me that they live on only the children's allocations, as they can't have acces to wellfare because their papers have burnt in a fire, and they need a permanent domicile for other id papers to be issued. 'But we live on the street..no wellfare for us.'
I gave Cristi a pretzel, my last one, that he was now chewing like a whole pack of gum. He seemed to be friends with the pretzel, as he looked at it, he holt it tight, but was happy but bite it now and then...but not savagely. More like sweet good night kisses in the middle of the day. Happy, childish, yet mature, as he was proud for his father had trusted him with his/their knobstick/staff. Guarding it safely, guarding his family, leaning on it, they empathising.

Sorry for not writing more or better, I am not in the mood.

Bogdan.