Then I flew, it was wonderful, I couldn't believe it! It's a weird luck to be such a THING for someone as old as me; As a simple THING...

An angel leaves. There's no sound. Just a heavy silence that covers the shacks of wood where other angels remain alive.

The Blue it looks infinite like heaven. Like a flooded sky in which creatures float with light and agile bodies.

You can hear him walking late night through the streets, offices, parks. Like a shadow, it crawls behind the words waiting to squeeze them.

You have more chances that a meteor hit your head than winning the lottery. Although, you still buy the ticket. Because who knows?

Whatever the reason, he was always late. You could say it was an art itself; with astonishing precision he was punctual in his unpunctuality