On awakening every morning, Matilda enjoyed some milliseconds during which she wasn´t yet aware of her reality. Each new day brought old storms with it, old despairs and present reproaches that brought her immediately back to reality, to her crude reality, to her sad reality. She barely managed to get up, read the mail drinking her dark and thick Italian coffee and briefly glancing through the window to the immense blue south, sigh deeply, shivering from her forehead to the tips of her toes. To the tips of her toes…