In a dark world, the price of light is forty thousand dollars, the price of four hundred and fifty prostitutes, or a seat in government. The people who rule are blind, can you blame them? They feel money with their fingers, speak empty words about the future, and dream of love in terms of red, green and blue. I hold the only light bulb I know to my chest, even though it only illuminates my next step, because it is bright enough for me to realise most people are blind. They've stopped fighting for light, they've withdrawn into apartments, stations, lavatories, sleeping in an endless night. There is a girl on my right, watering a spot of soil, and she turns her head towards me. That is how it would be until the end: I would be standing there, suspending my light, and she would bend her frail self, with one hand on a can. There is a flower in paradise with a sister in hell.