Being a tree is like sitting in un bar and being able to look outside through only one window alone: something happens, three men, first one and afterwards another two, head for a street door made of glass and iron and push it, the two men in turn, they all are trying to enter, but the door doesn't fancy to give in; of the three, two of them take something out of their wallet that they insert aside the door: probably a cash card... Of the last two, the second, going away, starts talking and gesturing towards the other, who, in the meanwhile, has already gone, and then disappears he too: one would like to turn to follow this last man and see what he's doing, which other solution he's got in mind to open the door... Whether he has one at all or rather he has simply chosen to let it go... Or maybe he's reached for the other one and he's persuading him to come back, maybe they're even quarreling now, come on, we cannot go without it, but you're a tree, you can't move, you cannot stretch your neck to let your glance slip along the wall outside aside the window...
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