I have this conviction that I can sentence me alone and with retroactive effect. So, returning home late charge as a donkey, the heavier weight is the memory of other falls like this, but infinite past, when there were only waiting for haste and anxiety, and moodiness. This evening I Wish welcome and the Unspeakable, which collects the shopping bags and my pieces, spare me in the kitchen and disappears. You calmly, smiling at me. I take it literally, and moving like a sloth recompose myself and my surroundings. And my sigh of relief celebrates it with a cloth that smells of laundry, a glass of wine and a dinner for a king.
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