Satarday

It’s more ok today with me. Morning was cold like a prose of my school days. I went to the Culture Institute listening a lecture about Bunin. The district where that event was is so desertly that from time to time trolley buses arrives like sand in a desert. I didn’t want to attend that and hoped to be late. But of course I was in time and saw much amazement on reseptionists faces when I said not first or second course but fifth. Corridors like in any typical school are empty and despairful. Alone I entered the study where it had already been fulled. It was like show I didn’t want to watch then. Just a haggard looking man with gentle manners and gruffly woman who cried on any reason. With girl from other course I spoke very restraining and selectively. Dufficult kind of questions I get at fast (only quessing play).

In the new cafe on central street it was very cozy to relieve. Only talks of cooks returned to reality. Only a quarter of hour and I had been better.

At home willingly I hold at my sketches. Two hours later pleasant emptiness. With all my straight it left me sad too.

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