City night of a village nestled in itself, dominated by some windmill and some last a bit more powerful than usual.
shouting in a dialect incomprehensible to come so close and the bar in front, where some life still able to resist the temptation of sleep crosses his path with another.
rustling in the running of the trucks come from the state, driving people to their apparent indifference of the peace (peace be admitted), solitary run fast fate, always careful not to stay within with the speedometer.
The rattle of the wheels on trade comes from the railroad, the last train of the day is fast approaching its destination, with the wheels smoking now for over a thousand miles run at 160 per hour, and people on it who knows what to expect future .
The bark of a dog loud and clear coming from the opposite house, perhaps troubled by some cats of way, maybe just eager to hear the echo of his booming voice seldom heard in the darkness torn right from some old and rusty lamp .
You just can not hear the sound of the sea, eternal brother of the local people, and admired him as a God treated like a rag, never ceases to live and to monitor, observe and ponder.
The silence of the rest usually helps to contemplate a scenario, but still a pillar of the phantasmagoric and stoned system called planet Earth. Out here there are those who sleep, some people bake bread that will brighten breakfast tomorrow morning and will fill most of the other supermarkets, there are those who happily express your love (you love?) As best he can, there is who is awake, sitting at a corner of a balcony full of mold intent to summarize his life in this silly and exciting day.
There, the important thing is that there is this component of sound irreverence and diversity in a world that knows how to ask questions but do not provide more answers, exhausted by the savage human beast who hides behind one thousand irregular verbs.
E 'in May, and it is night. Common.
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