The glass wall between me and them, or maybe everything - is thin, barely perceptible, but insurmountable as a flow of time. I sit in a stubborn waiting chair, which dermantine cracked like hardened land, and I observe…

The heavy, like cement dust, the body climbed into a two -storey bus, and every step is a separate breakthrough in pain through the knees and hips as if to rotate the rusty screws in the body joints. The upper floor, as always, stinks…

The past is an abandoned railway that has been on the outskirts of the city. The rails, two rusty scars are still here, but the trains are no longer driving them. I go to them slowly, carefully, as if to fall into time. Under the feet…

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…