"To the lions! To the lions!"
I let my mind become distracted as I sat at my desk ready to compose some little shit to amuse myself to pass the time, no matter how fleeting the moment or ailing intelligence (or lack thereof, of course). The book on the desk caught my attention, not so much of my eyes than of my nose. The book is at least two decades old, its pages have weathered through time (and space in one form or another) to emit a sweet aroma of, I mused, what must be wisdom. Age! Age never smelled so sweet! My pride lusted the sharp, vivid imagery of the author and I was engulfed in the hunger of the word, quickly abandoning to my imagination and walking along Vinicius in agony for his lost, beautiful Lygia. But Vinicius fails to understand his new religion again and again to the point of annoyance, for he is too vain, too blind, too Roman of Nero’s time. His vigor to convert is admirable, I suppose: he is confused in heart and mind and for the love of the maiden he is willing to enter a world of Christianity. Poor, lovesick fool!...... So much for composing some little shit......