Distorted swings. Their seats crooked, the first closer to the ground, its corner slanting into the depth of the space.

I stand in the kitchen and look through the window. My gaze looks for the mountain.

In the middle of the street, a tall daughter and a thin old woman. They try to enter Antikvarnica Café.

The dog stands on the edge of the walls, trying to commit suicide

While I am crossing the bridge, the rivers are flowing a completely different town. I, a vertical river, am traversing the rivers by steps.