le pays devient étale.

le peuple habitait dans un bocal. les mots, aussitôt prononcés, s'écrasaient comme des mouches aveugles contre le verre.

la langue me fait mal dans la bouche. je vais la mordre.

"do you have a minute for the environment?" asks a youth on a street corner.
i invent minute pills and distribute them to each inquirer. it's all fake, of course. i use aspirin tablets and with henna ink tattoo "1 minute" on each white button. i have pocketfulls of time. and because time is money, i try to trade it in the bank for green pills, but there definitely is some color discrimination going on, because bankers routinely deny my request.