Darley-city. Waiton`s alternative
Chapter fourth. "Arriving in calm"
In the early morning, behind the sun-awakeness, in the sixth hour of day, Alex Ives came home, changed clothes, went to the bathroom, washed his hands, and pouring green tea from a coffee can into a faceted pale blue glass, thought almost out loud:
"After sunset, as the sun awakens, I still think that even the light is trying to shine in the darkness of the big gray clouds in the sky. Every day, from morning to night, I begin to think about the future, but desires close the exit when bad thoughts go nowhere. When it is hard for a person - in emotional and logical sense, theater and performances seem everywhere, characters take to an imaginary stage, they advise us with different tangled voices, and you need to find the strength to return to yourself, think and find the truth. Or does it seem so to me? That was strange moment in the life movement made me look better in far places, but still I stood still without steps for change. The lightning bolts in the sky are so long and so slow that I will never watch the scenery of my city at night. I'm tired of seeing strangers on the road at midnight, when I opened the window a bit to watch the sunset..."
Obviously, all thoughts were mixed - from those that were during the day, rare curls appeared, as if the clubs of fog had come off and evaporated, and the new ones slept, surprising and alarming, although these feelings were kind of the same thoughts, but he did not attach special importance to them. My head was spinning — or rather, a nervous state was present, after a long hike along a dark street, my hands ached in palms and wrists, but depression and desire to go to sleep overpowered the desire to go to the living room, take boxes of Christmas tree decorations and hang festive garlands all over the rooms. doors to the windows. But there were a full ten minutes left before Alex could see the magnificent British salute, which flew after volleys of gas and metal dust across the sky in different directions. He was preparing for a celebration, but his girlfriend was sleeping in her attic, not wanting to see anyone and anything, even contrary to the traditions of the new year. Christmas was better than the new year, and the guy himself knew this, but years earlier, after visiting the outskirts of Russia, he was ready to learn the latest recommendations. It is strange, and yet it could be so, no matter how much he wants.
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jack waiton, book of poems, another life
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Отредактировано: 08.05.2019
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