Growl informs. Some run down the stairs in a hubbub unconscious repeated impacts against the concrete. To believe that this does not affect them in the depletion of their conscience. The torrential stream carries everything in its tracks absurd to fresh air, we sully our breaths, and our cigarettes. Cloud. I do not know why all grace is lost. I remember as a child to have had the same impression, but she was gracious. On the gray concrete, it remains lost all grace in this world, surrounded by improperly extinguished cigarette butts, crushed, and chewing gums discolored by time. To say that is all that remains of us down here, these tracks are embedded in concrete, asphalt, our salivary and tires.
past, we went into the impulse of grace, and life is loosened, and resumed its course is smoother and unfolds. Of that there is no question.
We are definitely locked up, who doubts? Or detained in any place I can not pinpoint, and on which it seems that nobody down here does wonders, preferring any certainty the opportunity to focus chewing on a possible persistent chewing gum or the consumption of a glowing cigarette, burning up in a last breath, fragrant exhalation of our despair. This could be the ancient underworld, where we met Ulysses but only as possible, this was nothing more I can not with any certainty, Hell or Limbo ancient later in which the movements of consciousness are less confident, more hesitant. And we are all assembled, with no common point we do connects disparate worlds that its variation grows to the point most absolute solitude.
It seems to me that this idea was given to me, over a steaming bowl of soup and transparent, very far in a Japanese city as rain washed torrentially and sirens as a storm passed through in all directions (only I did not know). I thought this limbo, without suffering and non-credit, lowering his head to my bowl of soup. There was swimming algae and shiny green ribbon folded in on itself in intricate convolutions that my sticks were seeking to seize and unfold, and about what they showed no certainty.
Finally we reach the bottom of the stairs, where our troops are defeated inaccurate in one go, split the night, I never thought the day had gone well, we descended into the morning light, and it is the darkness of the night that we snatch at the bottom of the tower, which we include and where we are in danger of disappearing.
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