A GLORIOUS CASE IS ABOUT TO

The dreams of newborns are shaken by a stroller on the cobblestones of the street. The star-mom, maybe in her thirties, with flaxen-blonde hair, hugs and tugs at a crying little girl, because they are late for kindergarten again; the road is stuttering too. Irregularity in human behavior will never be able to sway a person, even if it is so necessary and must in some places. It has nothing to do with the honest, instinctive maternal feelings that perhaps every woman should have.

Disharmonic throbs are clattering in the holed heart, just as brutal and cruel slaps are clattering somewhere. The little girl is clutching a plush figure, orphan-lost, and it would be nice to tell her with secret telepathy: "I promise, Little one, that nothing will go wrong! When the furious mother: "My little girl! How many times have I told you not to bring your toys, everyone will think you're an idiot in the end!" - "Mommy! Are you mad at me?!" - a mouse-sounding question is heard, before an increasingly restrained howl is heard, which causes even the Soul to bleed and shed pearls of tears.

- Uncertainly, but the anatomy of certain vertigo is what sooner or later dumbs down everyone, turns them into a jerk. With a wounded heart, on potholed roads, the leaves of rye and marigold continue to walk hesitantly and stumbling, just like the man who has always thought about his life in the Odyssey. And while the small, tiny, but all the more significant layers of mental wounds are piled on top of each other, even on the gnarled trunks of trees, the little girl will turn into a grown woman, who - maybe - will, in the same way, tease her own little ones through parental example, because she is constantly rushing and nervous In our world, almost everyone seems to be late...