One day I came into some sort of pub where three Asian men were staring at a shelf with Hennessy. I gently approached one of them, saying:
- Excuse me, can I have a seat nearby?
To which he replied:
- Aye man, you only need a glahss of wootah to help me foight that bloody hangover.. [illegible English]
I left the place shortly after, as I had left my wallet with a photograph of my grandma's chandelier at my hotel room.

That night I was lying in my bed, staring at the night black ceiling, not being able to fall into the holy state of half consciousness, followed by a dream of a view from a skyscraper that would make the unprepared tremble, seeing the height. Four gentlemen in elegant suits, standing on a rooftop terrace, were having a conversation that seemed to be relaxing for all of them. The man on the right had a glass of champagne in his perfectly steady hand. His stare was cold, almost as if he had a heart made of metal, but all it took was a friendly pat on the shoulder to make it melt and crack a smile on that always serious young face. That second, another man of the group started to look around, nearly throwing glances at my figure. The following felt like a pure horror: gentlemen have finally noticed my presence. I got a burning feeling of fear and anxiety, legs started to shake: they couldn't hold my weight no more. I took a step back and felt a sudden fright. Gravity has finally pardoned me. I became nothing for my feet to hold. Rapid wind streams wrapped my body and i found myself in a freefall. I fell off the roof.