Desgelou. All the chill, falling apart, little by little, ice by ice, shard by shard. Beating again, harder and faster, and stronger than a clockwork, and bleeding, like a waterfall, like a fucking niagara, bleeding and aching for. But it doesn't hurts, not like it would hurt, normally. A pain brand new, the pain of moving on, the scream of living. The "leaving things behind" pain, and go on, making one own way, uncertain, dangerous way. Well, as always. Life is the biggest of dangers. Now i'm going on, to the most Bukowskish night of my life so far. No alcohol, no cigar, no whores no punchs; Just the feelings. Those unavoidable, dangerous pleasures...