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People of my age seem to be breeding children or having what they call "a life," right now, in all those places where I never expect to be.
However, drops are indecisive at childhood. They don't have the courage to jump to the void.
They call them "homes," or so it seems, but for me, anything above the ground is a target here, even homes.
But one by one, they go.
Me?! I prefer my rifle!
They go and disappear in the ground. How interesting.
It is simpler. It does one thing and it does it well. It makes a lot of noise. Really, a lot.
What happens inside those drops?
This is perfect, or almost because the only thing that seems to leave me, perhaps, a little nonplussed is the fact that every night the soldiers seem to wonder about the bucket, and they fear that their time is running out.
I guess that it would be strange to be looking from inside one to the outside.
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