I was not alive. My parents did not even met. Watching the city through the window of my home, I see other windows and I dream, often. Windows of homes built on that year. And I dive, deep to the street, walking up, trying to see what is on the other side of the moon, the other side of intimacies. Jerky images floating like on a Nouvelle Vague. Nothing happened but so many things were born on that year. Freedom might come from the other side of the curtains. Might. That wasn't a dream. It was in 1959.