He stood at Basílica da Estrela for the last reunion of family and friends. Wolves, as I call them because he called himself "the wolf" due to the hours of his programs late at night. So only when I came back home at 3 o'clock in the morning, I could try to approach him but all doors were closed.
The funny thing is that I knew he was there beyond that wall with the lighted window next to me and I heard a friend of nights and wolves, an owl hooting in the garden in front. And then an enormous plane passed painted in hot colours coming from Angola.
The artist below was deeply admired by himself. He, who intruduced him to us so many times.
The choice came from him. The anger is mine.