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Millennial 8 (Ebanista) 

La briza suspende a la mariposa en el aire: se filtra por sus alas porosas, como por un pullover de lana. Sus patitas saborean el dulce que trae de un algodón de azúcar, recién hecho, no muy lejos, cuyo rosa se mescla con el vermilion de un atardecer recién nacido. 
Un pelotazo arranca a la mariposa de su vuelo y la deja en el suelo en pedacitos retorcidos. Pequeños pies pisan a las hormigas que querían reclamarlos. El algodón de azúcar se quema. La ciudad se quema. Al caer la noche solo quedan carbones mustios, ecos de corridas, y labyrinthine starlight.

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