For several days the city is twisted between a belt of flame increasingly tight. On the streets, the air is a thick, choking smoke-stained lungs each time you dare to drink it. You do not see the sky, and it seems the sun has run to hide away from here, looking back to another place with the quiet and dreamy calm that is supposed to summer. The clear coat before, a pure blue almost insulting, has been replaced by a leaden gray shroud that slips on the facades of buildings, among the treetops and the port's iron giant, by sticking to the skin of people that down there, they continue their daily routine as normal, trying to ignore the rain of ash falling on theiris, I wondered if anyone among all these people would be praying for the life he succumbed to the flames only a few miles away, if you would ask that deity finely carved and wrapped in cloth of gold that keep those flames to which was as vulnerable as any piece of wood. I also thought what if one day I stand on the street, lost my sight in the clouds and start singing like a robot. I guess misunderstanding. I guess that make you mad or not depends on the context, but above all, what most think, a disagreement between fools ends up being a fool among wise. And I wonder if my questions have any meaning or lost in the absurd, like I'm lost. My feet weighed
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