When the siesta, lying on the sofa with eyes closed, I could clearly hear a rustling of crustacean trampled upon, a soft tear of dead flesh, beating an egg with a tiny fetus chicken blue, the howl of a hyena lost among the rose gardens of my development, two shots on the side of a nearby drug dealer, two of Satie piano pieces played in unison by two silent horns, the clang of a clin- keys to fall, a single-flush on the floor below, a chup-chup on the floor next to the transition to the transit of a busybody who have given a good kick in the balls on the floor above. Applause.
A magpie crashed into one of the windows of my balcony. His fluttering shocked and hurt got to wake up just in time to celebrate his death. Better him than me.
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