A red light on the top of a building to avoid plane crashes. The dark of the night divided into equal parts. Shattered air. Breathing with difficulty. Looking inwards. Far from his mates, he feared becoming only a very communicative ghost. Judging by the number of dead insects, it was probably a country house. The morning light was of a bluish gray. I took a mug and filled it with warm muddy water. I drank, and when I could see the bottom, i realized it was filled with moths. Some were dead and others flapped their soaked wings, disturbing the surface, while trying to escape. I was worried and asked myself: will I get sick? The last sound emitted by the concorde as it crossed the icy sky shares a space in memory with the noise produced by wool as it shrinks inside a washing machine. Gentleness hurt his face. Guilt used to visit him at three in the morning. The only things remaining were two eggs and some tea bags. My ducks had no name. They were ducks, and every day we needed to clean the tank where they lived. Where childhood lived, mattresses sleep in the dampness of the night and the plant life is overgrown. Today people burn trash and tear parts off the cars. They say it is better to stay away from this place. Outside the usual path, the body always expels the shard of glass. It could take days or years. Some fragments can be transformed into strangely deformed jars, others into sand or sound waves, but they will invariably be expelled. Will it come out through the eyes? Will it cut through the skin? It rarely comes out from the same place where it entered. It cannot be tracked except as a symptom. He was seen performing mechanical movements with his head while waiting for the light to turn red. Who fired a shot into the air? Who started the summer? Every piece of glass longs to return to the liquid state. It wants to cut while it reflects.