this is a story, this is no truth, this is a story telling I was walking in New York City walking in a large wild open avenue with these beautiful buildings all around and then I was in a lobby where all the elevators were out of order so I was going up very slowly stairs after stairs I remember it was endless and I was so tired but I couldn’t stop going up stairs after stairs with no rest and then I arrived at the very last floor there was that door half opened in front of me so I pushed it softly and completely and on the roof there was my mother seated on a wooden chair cutting throats of dozen and dozen of chickens throwing their heads back down in street I wanted to say something I knew that was important to say something but I was so tired I couldn’t talk I was completely voiceless staring at mom blood and chickens with no heads anymore and the sky was everywhere and suddenly my fear was anywhere anymore