It happens to me that I saw everyone talking about the ice cream shake with passion... it is a vanilla shake, and I would really like to explain in exact words how its taste came coldly into my mouth and then it was kept there until it became lukewarm. The little bubbles of the whipped ice cream exploded imperceptibly with the touch of my tongue and I could feel it all over my face, and even in my brain, which was hit by a ray of coldness, which hurt for a moment, but then transformed into pleasure... When I look at that sea, that foamy strip, I feel that I can perfectly well talk about what that ice-cream milkshake provokes in me. Of course it was in a bygone era, because ... dear @mipiano, I have the joy of attending your concerts having just woken up, hungry, or late at night, hungry too.
Then the ideas come. They turn into an OCD. And I'm not so conscious of it, but before I hit the publish button on this comment, I've already checked it about 10 times, having perhaps left something unsaid.
The elements water, air, sharp pencils, the houses on top of each other, the spinning hoop (reminded me of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man)... complement that dance on the black and white keys game, making your publication a unique piece, not to be missed by anyone who feels the urge to create and for some unknown reason falls into some bottle trap.
I think I'm going to grab some HBD's and order the blissful milkshake.