I live a strange life. No, outwardly everything is in order - I look at the level, I do not stand out from the crowd, I go to work. And everything is fine at work. I am even grateful for my work, it distracts me, keeps me in good shape. In a word, from 9 am to 6 pm I am a normal person.

But the rest of the time ...

As soon as I leave the office, I instantly fly away from reality, as if plunging into another world. And I live in dreams.

My evenings are eerily the same. They resemble each other, like photocopies, and such photocopies are already a thick dusty stack. I am afraid of these evenings. And I postpone the return home until the last. I dine in a cafe, wander aimlessly around boutiques, buying things that I absolutely do not need, bother my friends with calls and visits, I am a frequent visitor of cinemas, exhibitions, concerts, and in a beauty salon I will probably soon be issued a client card ... When my fantasy completely refuses, I just I ride around the city in my car, winding endless circles. I would like to go somewhere far, far away, to leave forever, but ... can you run away from yourself? And therefore, sooner or later, I return home. To your empty apartment ...