...that every night the power went of in the neighborhood was not terrifying for me because things would transform and I was looking, fascinated to all sorts of forms from the shadows lingering on the walls.
I would open my eyes and my ears passing through a dark corridor imagining myself with my eyes in the developer tray of my old man. Images with people and moods, emotions and smooth foreheads were printed in negative on the walls, colored laughs emerged from the pitch black. Often I would trip and almost fall from the holes in the decrepit road but I would not take my eyes away from my imagination. Going upstairs wasn't a problem anymore, although I counted the steps carefully I would wake up in my imagined world and the noise of my falling. Home awaited the answer...
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