too stubborn to look away, eyes set a point on the horizon. The visual field, like a movie at pélicule of whose perforations are dislocated on the spool begins to hop. The view jerky, it's time for the hearing goes wrong, like a noisy soundtrack she gave way to a long symphony of sounds of scratching. The field of view, fixed a moment too before the projector lamp, from fumaroles in silver, tearing arabesques. What else is reality.
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