inside a book I found
one turn, number 62, dated 2005,
Time: 12:15
place: Camuzzi Gas Pampeana,

I picked up the paper and smelled it, it smelled like a book.
I wondered what the smell of the book is
I replied that it is the smell of the possible.

I left the shift suspended in the air
I left my life pinched in that role
I did the simple math: I was 27 years old.

everything was alive, while I waited with 62 in hand,
everything was alive outside: the rain, life, dad, mom, uncle marmoset.
16 years was the turn locked in the walls of "Life
Socrates' private and public "; my stomach was stronger
then, I could eat anything without having to pour a few tablespoons of fruit salt into my stomach afterwards.

when that shift was good for something
I had the world wide open: everything was mine
absolutely everything, he could do everything,
He was capable of all wonders
it was indestructible, that simple.

I don't remember what I did that day
where I went
who did i talk to
who I said goodbye to forever without knowing

I return the number to the walls scratched with the life of the Greek.
if I could go back to that row of Camuzzi Gas Pampeana
and find myself
he would not tell me anything, at best, that the book will give me more than one joy.