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Manhood is a fuel buried beneath ancient pressure. Only men are allowed to drive it. Their tongues can’t taste alcohol so they use their eyes to drink full shots of scantily exposed skin. Every now and then, they open the fridge to warm their feelings. 

Women are strictly prohibited to breathe. They grow fins instead and shark teeth. The desert is the sea. 

Every morning the muezzin knocks on their door. Get up, the sun screams, it’s time to burn your hours. 

The city arises excited, terrified, ashamed. It wears peek-proof walls around its roads and sprays a hint of palm trees on its parks. It spreads oil on its vehicles, while little square sugar cubes dissolve in its black slavery. 

 
 
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