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They say at night the wind sweeps the desert, they say in the morning everything looks different. Only those who know it well know how to find themselves, the others navigate in the midst of a sand tide of possibilities.

The city is now behind us, the diffused lights of the technological cathedral that expands for kilometers and square kilometers, gradually become linear like a wisp of smoke, arranged in a spindle to illuminate the road that leads to the desert. By now, the rest is only darkness and night.

The road in front of us is barely recognizable: its lines are blurred, lying under layers of sand so fine that it touches the wheels and the bodywork as if it were dust.

It's time to leave the asphalt, the black of the tar and the roads we've already traveled. We turn right to take an alternative route, surrounded by dunes and shrubs that look like choreographies of a possible world, made of a touch in the varying density of darkness. We travel about a kilometer towards the heart of the night and of the desert, until the road ends. No longer in front of us: the world is around us.

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