Time passes and you look into the frequent eyes of cute people wrapped between shoes from hand to hand on the shelves of the market, the total disorder of the hands reigns, the smells of the order of the places, they collide elbows as in the bustle of the fairs, they collide. agitated lights of bright colors and the high-pitched sounds of the multitude of immense speakers crush each other. The sand that jumps under the pressure of the shoes in the bustling streets is yellow, the sand jumps whose tiny grains whose random movements end up captured in the beautiful labyrinth of hair