Naked, in July, at noon. In a narrow bed, between two thick, drill sheets, with my cheek resting on my arm which I lick and taste its saltiness. I look at the lime on the wall of my small room. A little higher, the ceiling with the beams. Lower, the chest where I have placed all my belongings: two pairs of trousers, four shirts, some white underwear. Next to it, the chair with the huge straw seat. On the floor, on the white and black tiles, my two sandals. I also have a book beside me.

I was born to have so little. It means nothing to me to be paradoxical. From the minimal, you reach anywhere faster. Only, it’s more difficult. And from the girl you love, you also reach, but you need to know how to touch them so that nature obeys you. And from nature - but you need to know how to remove its thorn.