If I could for a minute, succumb to the disaster of everyday, to let me go, let of cling to... I guess it would be possible to crash with one of the strangers that I cross by the street and have a premonition of happiness. But now, it s sure that I can t, and probably that s why one ghost comes every night to rock my stupid guilt, and why its way s a ring of fire. And when I finally sleep it s always the same dream, sand falling fast in a glass bell. The sand very clean, the glass so weak.