At home

And finally I have taken a notion on this. To be at home with grandma, trying to make sketches is so pitiful. Unpleasant of this life is evident. And so loathsome.    Grandma opened the door to unknown guy. He turned out being drunk and stupid. We could not close the door because of him. It was stressful. I even do not want to tell about it. I phoned to police and wrote the declaration. After two hours I spent with literature’s themes I had heard a sound of bit. The neighbour decided to destroy our balcony as it bothered her. In ten minutes she had been ringing on door. Secondly on this day. I have just not opened. Crazy district, crazy. We need to move to a good place. Better though. Is it really that this town turns to me with back side? Hope not.

War theme on literature is still seemed to me boring. The point is about feeling or not feeling it. Nothing else. When I was watching the film about Art of Germany something glimpsed inside of me on cadres of Holocoust monument. And girl I met in Moscow does feel the same way I think. Inner stream.

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