"On the way home, I found on a street that It looked like mine, but with details slightly incorrect. The lights of porch blinked unison, and the street signs were written in a language I didn't recognize. Then I saw someone It seemed like me, looking at me from the corner. Like it was hiding, watching me from the shadows. But to this day I don't know if what I saw really happened, or was just a dream driven by my exhaustion."

The words escaped him, scattered in one of his notebooks with black ink, sighing before the light of one of his last candles, he would have to buy more tomorrow at the store. He looked at the night sky from his bedroom window. Tomorrow he would have to go to work again, what a depressing thought