Then, if someone wants to go to Mass on Sundays, there is always the escalator.

Maybe I get it.
We should live in a single container.
If I lived in a room with you, the circumstances would require me to socialize. So I would say that that haircut does not suit you.
We should live in a party. One of those Americans, with the tailored dress and red glasses. So with the excuse to give you the tray of pizza, I could introduce myself.
So, yeah, my name is Elena.

It looks like a gathering of Alcoholics Anonymous.

The small spaces are used to provoke panic attacks / claustrophobia.
So we need music.

I look like a misfit.

We decrease the volume, the neighbors of the opposite party are looking at "Play It Again, Sam".
In short, I enter into this house, complete with air conditioning and French windows. I want the sun outside. I know that this kind of party takes place at night, but the darkness perplex me. We'll have dim lights inside, outside spring-like weather. The house will focus on black and white.
And I want big self-portraits of famous people. The couches are in leather, black, soft to the touch.
So everyone will behave as in everyday life. allowed to turn off the Camel on the carpet. We consume reports in the respective rooms. I predict the presence of a phial. great. With numbers that correspond to available rooms.
I probably saw this in a movie. The lovely house is equipped with lifts, useful for making charges of any kind. Sofia could open the bread, while Marco is waiting for their turn in the grocery store.

Guests sway.
Dancing would be too tiring. And there are no clocks.
I'm dreaming a reality where you cure yourself just with aspirin.

During a party we get drunk, then Nicola will be working under the cocktails.
I'll pretend I know how to cook, giving the tiramisu of my grandmother. Then, if someone wants to go to Mass on Sundays, there is always the escalator.
Here you keep sitting. Each one brings a pocket-seat, to be used in any danger.

1,2,3 1,2,3 a deep breath.