I fried a black course bread. Later I sat by the table. The rice bread seemed tasteless at first glance, but I ate it with apetite. My gastric handled the previous events of the night. They blocked my throat like a paper. Possible that I will survive the twenty-four stop frame animations per day, and one of "25" is a completely incomprehensible to me? It live unconscious, deeper than any of the events, taking place around the world unclear when the flow of information, but can not be interconnected. It's simultaneously been rejected from my body as a growing the virus itself. Only my brain to process what I know and have experienced. The same as from the judge of the future. The future of an absolute solitude, which will take place in what no one can fully understand, and for anything to happen to me. Slowly sending up from the table. My eyes keep folollow the sound of trimmers, and then I increase the radio. Nothing more.

Finally, I went out to the street. There was pouring heavy rain. The sun looked somewhere dissolved, becoming  a black hole with an empty view of the front. Very bright lights of cars were moving in three bands. I just felt the humidity nicly flowing through my muscles. Near the house, the red metal mail box was painted inks fresh, cold and massive, right next to the indian food shops, live our neighbors which i am unfamilliar with. In the courtyard side the hanging garlands were blindly flashing. I did everything fast around my eyes - a white track bar, damp fences, wet pavement, dirty snow, and at the windows swaying garlands. Every day more and more. Towards the running of uncertainty approaching the line. Until the end.