The disk starts to rotate, right, the camera adjusts the focus, the street dancers playing parkour roll down from the sky, a carnival, a madness, why can’t we be mad? Why are we willing to be dwarfs? We can glide over the waves
are you tired? What does it matter if sweat oozes from your forehead? Even the mayor dances with his hands. The government is a sentimental net. The people are sentimental bugs.
We crawl out... We are the darling of the wind, the sun is particularly dazzling at that moment, we are the silver wing of this era
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