Our own created personalities.
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Grete the Naive

Joana has the

sixth sense


Daisy wants to be a monk


William the cat-talker

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50 meters ahead, I saw a portrait. In the twinkling light, it was moving, I swear, like in a horror movie. The woman inside the portrait frames was coughing and spitting blood. I was stoned, just staring and doing nothing. Suddenly she stopped, our eyes met. Her painted eyebrows got furious. She looked at me yelling: “Could you please be so kind and offer me a cup of tea? I’m freezing here! “. She was an opera singer in purple, a smoker. My favourite night character since then.