The clock on the wall warns of a hurricane. I took the pen, and shook the paper. The letters did not drip, she slapped her dull pen and petrified the ink in its hollow. I looked for another pen in the chaos of the place, I found a clean one lazy in the hollow of memory, planted his sharp head between the ribs, groaned as he plunged into ecstasy, drank to the brim, and then started crying. The next day, she was running naked through the streets of the city