Every story has the irony drawn in a tenuous line that does not want to be told, instead, it prefers the secret and false anonymity, the murky thoughts that we do not dare to say out loud, but thoughts always present on every day, every moment and at the least opportune hour. The characters found in these stories prefer to leave all morals aside, prefer to give away any advice or and dismiss any warning about the mud of certain developed paths. Rather, they prefer getting their boots dirty and watching from afar, sunken into their own humanity. The characters may have a justification, a leitmotif or something similar, but it will be a waste of time trying to understand it. After all, each character outlines the same fears, obsessions, passions, ambitions and hatred that spice up the past, the present and the days to come. In these stories, the mature man who was taught that love and desire must be built with sin and guilt, the superhero who sees his days of glory increasingly distant, the artist who searches in the life itself the essence for his work or the honorary believers of the erotic literature witnessing an enigmatic liturgy. Whoever is free from sins, let them throw the first stone.