Dreams.

. I had a hard time finding the right house, one that radiated malice, among an entire block of panel buildings, covered with corrugated metal on top, as if with barbed wire. The house's door – round and covered with a lava pattern – stood out from the others here. I open it.

Inside, some people are sitting, and they seem to be drinking green wine. I have a glass of tears in my hand. I'm afraid that there won't be enough tears, but I still offer them to try, and pour some: surprisingly, no matter how much I pour, as soon as I set my glass upright, it fills itself right up to the brim. I also took a sip – and in this taste, as much as it could convey, I felt the bitterness of the whole world, of all the people in it.