I've spent the afternoon looking out the window. Topical, right? The prisoner, far from his homeland, depressed by nostalgia, without looking beyond the fence, looking for long hours at the square sky, looking through the clocks... No, no. I'm not looking at the shapes of the clouds, no, I'm waiting for the seagull. It comes every afternoon, but today it's late. Of course, the squid has no clock, the soul is free, it does not have to account for the jailer, the boss, the husband, the banker, the master. No, the cow there comes. After two or three steps back in the air, he has offered me a slender landing to my window edge, which he knows he told me yes. For a moment, we've been looking, hanging in the limbo of the lack of spatial logic. Gradually I put my hand between the bars and... zart! No, I didn't grab by the neck, quiet, I just took him a pen. Not even the seagull herself complains that she has come to bring that pen. After a final look at my pupils (“Give it a good use!”), tell me, but I haven’t been right if I’m advised, stewed or threatened), it has opened long, wide, elegant wings, and hoop has flown away, far, free, inaccessible. A sigh had to flee... but I don't have time for more clichés. Well, come on.

I sit in front of Ziega's coffee table. With a round knife without sorbes I have rotated the screw of the sharpener to release the small blade. Then I removed the ink tube from a pen and, with a lighter, I gave the tip fire. Ketzarra! When the plastic has softened, in a single motion, I killed the flame and inserted the sheet, clenching with the tips of the fingers impregnated with saliva. You're done! Although I've burned a bit, I've looked enchanted at my masterpiece. I've rotated between my fingers, thinking ... Is it a cutter for manual work or a dangerous white weapon?

In the end I have firmly grasped the gun cutter: I've spent too much time looking out the window, it's time to act! I punched two knives to sharpen the pen of the seagull. Cisterna Ah, look, I now have a pen in the palm of my hand. When I opened the ink container, on the contrary, the threat of doubt has squeezed me. Yes...? Sure...? What, how, for whom? And then? Tics. Hmm. Yeah, that's it. I've picked up the gun again and this time I've sharpened the pen completely. Cyst-zast-zast-zast. Hmmm.. Ah, yes, now yes.

Now I have a very sharp tip. Let's put the pen in the lock and... Click! Thank you, ARGIA, for opening this door. Until soon!