I saw a white horn on a white table in front of a white background. The place seemed to be a house or somewhere close to the sea. I could hear the waves and feel the sea breeze from the coastline.
I grab a conch shell, with tiny black and blue dots all around its protruding surface as if it was seasoned with color. My sight was from the point of view of a man who sees the horn while he is seated behind a desk, like an old tax collector or a white beard bureaucrat.
The man opened the horn from one of its sides, (it was a secret money box) and take out silver coins from it. I noticed his burly hands. They seem the hands of a fisherman, rude, and bronzed by the salt and the sun. I know this is happening in the Mediterranean, although I was not sure of which part exactly. The table in which the horn and the coins were, is made of greyish marble or so it seemed.
The breeze enters the room clear, transparent, pure as everything else in that room. Suddenly, The man hears echoes burst from the port, some ship has moored and somebody at land needs to greet the men after their journey.
