Life is a dog you are used to play with by throwing him a stick. You are used to the game, you trust the dog, but one day it doesn’t come back with the stick. Another day even the dog doesn’t return. The man is a master who finds out too late he owned no dog.
The arteries of the city gradually begin to be crossed by cars with drivers who are searching for something, half asleep. Their automatic gestures reveal the monotony in which they bath like in a warm muddy puddle, like a drop of water in the fractured asphalt, sometimes dreaming of being a drop of ocean.
With a step forward and one backward, always between yesterday and tomorrow, we live in a question without answer: does the night end or the morning begin? And if it is a day when we can change everything, why don’t we see it, although our eyes are wide open?