Every time I leave home, I think about how people will remember me if I die today.
Time turns into a damn vacuum, I don’t know who I am and what I want. I have a beautiful coat for 9 thousand rubles, I smell good and pretend to be a paranoid who has seen life. Today is Tuesday. March. I woke up in a strange apartment, two crazy cats running around on the bed, knocking their forehead against the walls and yelling. The girl is sleeping nearby. she, apparently, got used to similar, but such a garbage breaks my sensitive dream on one-two. It’s about 7 in the morning, we went to bed about 5, I get up, put on jeans, a shirt, drink water from a kettle in the kitchen, put my head under the tap, wet my hair, wipe it with a towel and leave. Opposite the McDonald's house, I take a cappuccino, look out the window. At one time, when I got up to work every day, they liked to show a clip of a group of animals in the mornings, where their Roma soloist sings that everyone is running somewhere, but he doesn’t need to go anywhere. I looked at him, drank my tea and hated it. Because if you don’t need anywhere, what the fuck did you get up early in the morning, sitting on the couch in the city center and infuriating everyone, asshole? But now I'm about in his place. I do not need anywhere. At all.
I met Diana last night. We met in contact - she liked my poems, I liked her. A couple of hours of communication, and we agreed to meet at a bar on a hay. I noticed that recently the number of girls I have is proportional to how often I drink. The youthful wave of first dates in the cafe passed to no avail, getting to know a glass of whiskey in your hand is much more convenient and faster. Sober love has become something of a mythical character, a kind of fairy tale, which I continue to believe in. Well, what if.
I am late. She was waiting. Long dark hair, a little taller than me, slim, smiling. Well dressed. We kiss each other on the cheeks, I barely touch her waist with a hand, look into her eyes, we are going to take a table.
It turned out that my work attracted mostly similar girls. I can listen to their stories, stop and continue to tell further myself.
She started living separately from her parents early, at the age of 16 she met a guy who was 20 or 22, they had been together for a long time, she had experience of serious (in her opinion) relationships, about a year ago they broke up, since then she has been trying to find what something similar and desperately fucking, as if for the last time. There is a spark in her eyes, ready to set fire, but more melancholy because she already now understands that I'm not at all the same.
We drink glass after glass, she asks me questions:
- And about whom you write? Who is it all about?
- About one girl.
- You're together?
- No, we broke up.
- Why?
- So it happened. we both turned out to be too complicated for us to be all together healthy and long.
- Did you love her?
- Yes, I think so.
- And now love her?
- I do not know. anything can happen.
- But they never wrote me anything. How does she react to your poems? She likes?
- She shit.
- Are you offended?
- No. I like it.
- Why?
- Indifference is one of the most sincere emotions. If she liked my writing, I would think that it was simply because there about her. It's like stupid chicks who meet with mediocre rappers and flow from mentioning their name in another shit song of a friend. And besides, most of my work has a negative color, I write when it’s bad, and neither she nor even I should like it when everything is dull. Do you understand?
I ask for an account, pay by card, leave 10 percent of the tip in cash. We are already a little drunk, we need to take a walk, breathe. Evening Peter, half-spring, we go towards Nevsky Prospekt, get caught in the rain, I take out an umbrella, she snuggles up to me, and we very nicely portray almost love. The standard set of my stories is replaced by the standard set of her answers, and I like her, but this is just not enough for anything more.
- Dian, I need another drink.
- I have a bottle of whiskey at home. Will we go?
- Let's go, it will be necessary to buy cola then, is there a store 24 hours nearby?
- Yes, we’ll buy everything there
We catch a car and drive somewhere in the direction of Ladoga.