The silence of the day-to-day disorder in the delivery of man to civilization, right at the dawn of the cold morning.
Waking up, more than dreams and inner utopias, forgotten or faded.

The cars that go, at the pace of those who do not realize that the world is passing by, nor the yellow van is able to stop it, we cannot be invisible and small.

At a time when everything is simple and confusing from the rich man's blanket, to the poor man's car distances, worlds and colors.

"In the city the big houses close the view, hide the horizon, push our gaze away from the whole sky, make us small because they take away what our eyes can give us and make us poor because our only wealth is to see! "

Then there are our searches for lost times, perhaps capable of escaping the circumstance, (like the presence of the past in the present), a possible double projection of man.

Then you have to understand that it is not the physicist who makes the city, but relationships, the city drinks from memories, distances or events.

The falling asleep of the dream, perhaps because of the rigorous reality.

The scream breaks the city, some scream for freedom, some scream for wanting only the real.