Πολλά χρόνια πριν, στο Φεστιβάλ Βιβλίου, γύρω από το σπίτι με τις πέντε πόρτες και τα δέκα παράθυρα ‒ θα μπορούσε να είναι το Ζάππειο Μέγαρο. Την ώρα που αφηγούμαι ιστορίες βλέπω ένα μικρό αγόρι. «Θα το πιάσω!» φωνάζει κι αρχίζει να τρέχει. Σηκώνω το βλέμμα και..
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