The washing machine drum turned its silent, mechanical ritual, and I watched it as if hypnotized, sitting on cold bath tiles. The world, reduced to soap and rotating fabrics. The soaked, tangled shapes are like drowned…

We do not fight for abstract concepts - justice, freedom or gods. These are just signboards that politicians, the same version of better costumes, cover a much older, dirty pulse.

As I rolled, I lowered my leg on the first cement…

The heat over the square was shaking like a translucent jelly, absorbing the reflections of the buildings into itself and turning them into mirages. In the very center, like the altar for a pagan deity, the fountain was thirsty - its currents, like fossilized snakes, shot…

The city breathed in the monotony of wet asphalt, and I, another erythrocyte moving through its veins, swam the usual route - from door to door, from one duty to another. There were no thoughts in my head, but thick kisses,...

It was raining. No, this was not the calm, pattering rain from the old books. Here the sky vomited bile, and the wipers, like two hysterical preachers, waved desperately in front of their eyes, trying to clean the world, but only smearing it in ...

Part 1. Monday.

the alarm is not a sound, but a dry, needle-prick in the temple. The body itself, without the intervention of consciousness, turns off the button, turns, lowers its feet on the cold floor. Ritual. Mechanics forged through thousands of the same…