Last stop before climbing up the volcano that has been sleeping since some hundreds of years. She chews, biting the dried apple, all the thoughts for which she couldn't find any time during the last five days. All the spongeness and sweetness is perfectly concerned in the tacky particles of air, mixed with the dust and the sweat of all possible souls wandering around. In a moment she
will be making a slow, constant effort of lifting all her world up to the top.

The way turns out to be much easier than it seemed to. Clouds, settled on the top of the buildings, don't let discern where the land is ending or where the sea does begin. But it is sufficient just to leave your legs lifted in the air and you'll have the whole Eden under your twenty-three-centimetres long feet.