The adventure begins here, at the door of all kingdoms – in this labyrinthine thirst that runs out between two shelves. Like the strength of a Moses flanked by walls of the sea, crossing the width of the Universe in search of a promised land. And the oases multiply, promising portions of the unknown. Columns of fire hanging in expectant widths, with no deadline or expiration date to be seen.
“Esperança” is a pantheon to the nameless gods. In a hidden room the oblique outline of a semi-open book was left unfulfilled (whims of the unrewarding sum of three cover prices and two morning coffees). So much sea, so little time to sail. The minutes are forgotten by the dozens; they are leaves that fall in some forest of consciousness, where the book surrenders to the glory of the body’s inertia as lord and master. Outside, far from the arcanum of demand and the agony of choice, the day suspends belief and a car ride is lost.