This city is not made for conquest. Nor is it a sanctuary willing to pray. He has a hard head, rough, crude, like the one who stabs hidden under a tunic that does not stain red. This city no longer laughs, although it is full of laughter and applause at official events. Their celebrations are far from simple joy, because now barbarism is their brand. This city is a black and white stamp for those who believe in the victory of kindness. It is full of nonsense and bordered by wandering like a temple of strange auguries.