this morning sounded the doorbell three times. I did not open. I woke up the first call. I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling of the room white, broad, flat, with no visual references that catch the eye. This vision has become a sticky feeling that I have adhered to the skin without waiting. The second and third have been persistent calls. Monotonous cadence subject's finger on the button has warned me not to be something important, but rather the work betrayed a gray or similar official census, so I did not move. Have already had to spend several hours after the silence became to take over the house. The quiet scares me. The existential vacuum horizon disturbs me. Talk to the painter of the company. I think three or four colors suffice to hold the vertigo of my eye.
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