The pillars of light between clouds, so far yet so real, fill his eyes with an endless desert. Take off his shoes and his socks and careful place them on a customer chair. Someone sighs. Dry, he thinks. Run, bare feet, run. Plunge into that thick-ass glass window. Will it break ? It breaks all right. Blood on his feet. Wind, water, wind. Over the river, could I, he thinks. With Icarus’ wings, vielleicht. He has about five seconds left, to feel the redemption of the rain.


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