... .I Do not remember when coming home without being in a state of light "pidshofe." And perhaps not easy ... but since yesterday was a feeling that under my shoulder vshyly "torpedo" and I die one look at a glass of vodka or cognac. Put out the excitement I had nothing. There was something to hold on to the end of the day. On the other hand, I wanted to it lasted forever. I was afraid to come home, afraid to sit at the computer
So after two burdensome lectures at the Institute of Cinematography I returned to the office. There I had nothing to do, I could work at home, inventing endless plots for commercials, but as I said I was afraid to go home. So stupidly sat in his office, put his feet on the table and occasionally forcing our office manager Tatiana my strongest brew coffee. I looked out the window. And my vision was so pointed and concentrated that I have seen the least binding and furrows on the bark of an old tree that grew on the opposite side of the street. I tore off the point of view of these fissures, hammered gray cobwebs, and they reminded me deep wrinkles on the face of the old man
Summer ended. Was coming to the end of the year. I do not know how the others, but for me year always ends on the last day of August. Perhaps because everything in my life to start autumn
I tried to turn off the brain, do not worry. But mentally hundred times already visited his apartment and made several motions for a familiar, opened the door, took off his jacket, sat down at the computer, umostyvshys in deep black chair and clicks "mouse."
Why am I so afraid to do it all really? What prevents me now reset his feet off the table, pick up a case, jump out into the street, to drive ten minutes and really push the door of his apartment? What weight hanging on my feet?
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