My heart is a Gothic brothel in whose rooms prostitutes of fallen nymphets, sensual pimps, lesbian goddesses, horny dwarves, cheap miches, gay centaurs and crazy virgins of all sexes are prostituted. My heart is a dry line. Vertical, post-modern, very neon colored, engraved on a black background. Pure, definitive artifice. (...) My heart is a bar with a single table, overlooking which a single drunk man drinks, a single glass of bourbon, contemplated by a single waiter. My heart is a colorful ice cream of all colors, it is tasty in all flavors. Whoever proves it will be happy forever. My heart is an English room with walls covered with paper of small flowers. Burning fireplaces, soft, deep armchairs, pictures with green lawns and peaceful ivy-covered houses. On the white lace of the tablecloth, the tea rests in Chinese porcelain. In the open book next to it, someone underlined a line from Sylvia Plath: "Im too pure for you or anyone." - Caio Fernando Abreu