" As soon as I open the door and look down the stairs, I know that starts under the road, not the mold now accepted, not the houses that we know, the hotel in the face: the street, the living forest where every moment can rain on me like a magnolia, where the faces will be born as they watch, when I go out a little longer, when with elbows and eyes and nails will go to pieces in detail pasta against the glass brick, and I'll play the life of advancing one step after another to go and buy a newspaper at the corner. "(J. Cortazar - Stories of cronopios and famas)
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