Here is the country of water and white lizards of ventilators and motorcycles.
People ride two by two, clinging one to the other, on small motorscooters.
Now and then, I saw a whole family, father, mother and two children, riding on the same machine, looking as quiet and pleasant, as if they were in a first class compartment. Some drive, wearing gloves. Hence, living seems to be a matter of meticulousness. In every possible pitch, horns echo, here I come, here I am, give me way. But they seem to have much pleasure to insist that they only wish to add their shrill note to the frenzied cacophony of tears.