The tarred fist of a careless victim lures a dervish to the edges of a puddle. A vain climate surrounds them. The faltering monk, deformed by an apprehensive smile, bathes his talon in the black marsh. The liquid is dense but it doesn’t leave any trace on the limb. “Only a suicidal rat is capable to sink in this sepulchral shaft” he says, going away.
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