He taps his palm on his pockets, looking for the cardboard box with the remaining pair of cigarettes. He bought it this morning and smoked it, as it happens, more often than before entering the ill-fated building.
The weather frowns playfully, mockingly dropping raindrops on the sunken cheeks of a guy who stands with his back pressed against a lamppost, and with unruly fingers crumples a weighty folder with multi-colored paper, equally boring in lines hidden from prying eyes. Homily written in black ink and authentically complicated with a stamp. Dozens of sheets, one from the other no different, they have been accumulating for the second month. Moved from folder to folder.
His whole body twitches, banishing fresh memories of the hours spent in the hospital, and still takes out the coveted dose of nicotine. He looks at her with a certain disgust, reproaching himself for the hasty morning choice. I could take better.
He accidentally drops a half-smoked cigarette on the pavement, and immediately takes out his own, lighting it with a kind of fanaticism in a desperate look. He needs to send it to his beloved, who has been waiting for him at home for 8 hours, he is worried.
David chuckles sadly, shrugging his shoulders, and finds a phone in his pocket with a crumpled packet. He covers himself with a screen from the water with his palm, it looks like it can somehow select briefly, and selects the first number in the naive list of recent calls.
- Kitty? - a native voice on the other side of an invisible telephone wire makes Damiano sullenly purse his lips and barely utter a greeting. His gaze is drawn to the building at the other end of the street, a flower shop, to be exact...
-But someone voluntarily buys flowers. Fucking idiots.
Having twisted his face with a cigarette in his mouth, the guy continues to watch how people one after another buy themselves someone's death in a wrapper, and a third of the questions are ignored, the intonation reaches from forceful to hysterical
He notices this after a short hail and shudders all over, clutching his feelings tighter. He coughs to the side, pushing the speaker away from his face, and the voice of reason manages to make it as pleasant as possible..
