Someone told me, on one of those dusty nights, amidst the incoming drizzles, the smell of silence encrusted on the walls of the stores, someone told me, I said, that a body is made up of all the bodies that one experiences. Those who you meet, in the mist of the drunken night, those who greet each other for brief minutes just to satisfy the violent core, like a clenched fist pushing the chest from the inside, those who exist beyond the skin that covers them. The bodies, all the bodies, leave their mark, beyond the obvious, on the body that knows them.