They go and come, see mistreating and destroying. They are being told to hurry; they are being told maybe tomorrow, God willing! Passing across the buildings of holiness to drown themselves in window-shops. Their kids sell fortune and their fathers polish the oranges, one by one! They pass through the whining breaks as if in a dream they are. They feel felicity if they put a flag of vegetables, cheese and tomatoes on the ground. They go and come through the dismal city, the city without infallibility. In north, pleasant neighborhoods without pedestrian; in south, moaning of fife. They go and come through the endless corridors. They are recalled and waited. They wait, come back; knock the wicked doors and apology for begging justice. And now there would be APCs, helmets, and butt stocks.

Alian lance