Threat storm, in a scenario of dark
storm clouds where a bog is well defined to the horizon by two ropes.
In equilibrium measured to the millimeter they are suspended, as if
it were a puppet, a car, baggage banana of a brave and quarrelsome
ogre.
Shot by a seagull, restless before the stalking of those redoubts
minority that dominate today.
One hand, member amputated from a non-existent being, controls
his threads while we suffer, as observers, the aggression of
those who do not want be recognized.
Making the game to the warpers and mercenaries is usually reason
to perish.
Dr. Abad
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