I was sitting on the park bench and counting the crows to come. I was throwing stones at them. They wondered, they were sitting farther. A little later they would return again and the parade in front of me.
The hour passed. It didn't come. I became anxious, frustrated, nervous. The branch that was my hand bent over, was bending.
I was overwhelmed. I got up from the bench and emptied my head in the crows.
I threw the flower, I pushed it, I hit it. The flowers were crushed, broadcast.
Then, I raised my coat collar, dipped my hands in his pockets, pulled my way and went. Not reaching the door of the park, his fierce came from behind.
I also heard the voice of his steps and even his breathtaking voice. But I didn't return to him. Even for fights, cruelty, anger. I got out of the park. I crossed the street in two. I was still coming back. I heard the heels of his boots. He was running and sounding me.
Across the street, I stood in front of the car. It was still my back. I threw the key to open the door, sit down, go, forever.
He did not open the car, the sound of the brake beep and the scream of a short groan in my ears.
I came back. I saw it. The street was broadcast. He had fallen in front of a car that was hit by him and his driver was hitting his head.
His head was asphalted, packed, and his blood was drawn to the atmosphere next to the street.
I ran to him and stunned, confused, and my head. I looked at her hood and phonemes.
In his left hand, there was a small package that was delicately wrapped in his own elegance. It was tightly attached.
I looked at, stayed on his sleeve as he was up, and his watch was found: four and five minutes.
I looked back, I saw my watch: five and five minutes.
I looked at the unlucky driver's watch: it was four and five minutes