The little has always been shaky tears. Trickles of water too salty to kill all fish in the oceans and that never ran right on his cheeks. That's how one day, one night, another day and another night, he wept salty so many that formed around him a huge sea of salt, snow salt, salt air. A mythological story was forming in front of him, and he slept without dreams, in the salt of life. When he awoke appeared Mademoiselle, the Siberian salt the clouds blondes, the ticket to paradise. You could hear the wind chills countries, a nice little trick that could do in his head. Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvent the cold country and disturbing tide. Miss the Siberian salt, remained planted in her beauty, waiting for the tense heart of hopes which had fantasized meet the fantasies of little Madness. He did not like it. But he wept again. That was enough. It was even more.
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