At the same time are the same space, I live in a place and in the memory, the two go together, we live together, then you go out to take a turn but it always returns to the starting point, it looks forward, but quite the opposite is pase, the more time passes the more back to back to back to front, that's why the old look like baby carriages moving it, they eat mashed potatoes, they no longer leave their homes, they will say anything, but the adult does not believe he will finish as he started, he does not expect it and it does not want, then think of something else and life goes in baloney unsuccessful plans out, but it dies, it would decide, but it dies, it remains one wants to leave, no output, that input is for when we do not know, it seems that it's coming, but you know, they say, you take it in and let me, I go, I do not want history, I live quietly without bothering anyone, it is my pleasure to look out the window to run the children see women shopping, men look at women without doing anything else