I go home with my dad today. I see, and above some dark fifth floor, a vortex of crowns.
Yyy: It seems to be before the winter.
YYY: I say to Dad "Look, straight like in the Night Watch. Who has cursed anyone?"
yyy:Father answers "Yes, my mother seems to be her daughter." Here in front of my eyes, this wreath moves and stops above my head.
yyy: And I give out the phrase of the century "Dad, I don’t seem to have the bed at home".