This is not the beginning of a summer night, which would be crowded with people, trying to recover from the day heat, walking with a beer or an ice-cream in their hands, like a peaceful but slightly disturbing buzzing swarm.

This is not the blue picture of a brand new night which has a full repertory of lights and sound to entertain all those who cannot feel asleep.

This is the leftover of an old night, worn out by the time.

The first cries of birds have already torn its velvety texture, but it’s still an intact time, trembling for the first lights of dawn...

And it’s only mine.