The broken lines of the hand could mean nothing or make sense of everything, grief separations, nervous breakdowns, dismissals, resurrections, sudden showers; in the same way, bad dreams would be an effect and perhaps a cause of frustration anguish states of anxiety widespread unhappiness ideological disruption skin aging who knows. Meanwhile, the day is crowded with fatal signs, a bug crouched in the boxers a bad coffee an expired yoghurt a failed parking an undelivered message mouse feces on the balcony. Money is scarce friends shortage lovers in the cinema do nothing interesting the theater is dead the tickets for the stadium are not found the centralized antenna is malfunctioning the telephone battery is gone like the timing belt the mass air flow sensor the pump oil, summer is over it always ends the days are always written earlier, the doctor who should help heal asks for help is confused surrendered does not know what to say is powerless knows he is, the lines of the hand are broken they always have been they cannot be fixed , dreams have already been dreamed are films already seen the script is sloppy they cannot surprise, time does not flow rather it accumulates sits on surfaces like dust, the end is written and decided it was written long before it all began, stay just waiting.

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