Under the moiré sky of a trombone moon, another oddity is gearing up to trigger the excitement of the night beauties. A spectacle of flying socks is causing curiosity and astonishment on the dance floor of shadows.
In a night as deep as the inside of a coffee cup, multicolored socks, abandoning their pairs to take flight, paraded under an invisible marquee, in the heights of the Milky Way, to then tumble onto the famous dance floor of shadows. These socks, painted with love and perfumed with eccentricity, nurtured their taste for freedom, declined in a myriad of colors and patterns.
“It’s as if they were attracted by the enchanted music of the dance floor, which sounded like a snail’s whistle mixed with mimosa applause,” exclaimed an anonymous witness, fresh as a salad of words. The listeners, sometimes charmed, sometimes disconcerted, gathered in a mix of curiosity and laughter, while each sock exalted its own character, turning and fluttering to the rhythm of the air waves.
At the heart of this strange saraband, a blue paisley sock declared, with tousled confidence: “The thread of the dream constantly unwinds. If we are not made to fly, why do we have a soul that takes flight?”. Hearing these words, the assembly, paralyzed with laughter and perplexity, was shaken by a wave of mystery and poetry, as if lulled by a soft melody suspended from the stars.
The parade of flying socks, ending in a rain of golden threads, illuminated the night with its unreality, and once again highlighted the absurdity of existence and the magic of fantasy, in a world where even the most common objects can take flight and dance under a trombone moon.
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