Se estaba mordiendo el alma. Opresión, angustia, falta de aire. Y nadie cantaba. Cuenta la historia, ya ves, que había tortugas congeladas en sus sueños. Un paisaje de un vuelo uniforme. Un oscuro fuego con luces extras. Brillaban los trenes. Tubos por todas partes. Tiendas cargadas de sal. Trucos para hacer noches.
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