Far from the sea, there is a square.

There is a bench in that square.

There is a woman sitting, waiting for the minutes to pass on that bench.

Of course, in the sea, it happens that the moon is more than just a light or a cold star; it happens that underwater, the body feels a sum of primary sensations.

The body remembers the origin, the hope, and the sadness that has now developed, but the sadness is more nostalgia than that decadent beer that increasingly inflates the emotionless void that drips from the afternoon.