[scie]

I'm crossing the threshold and stumbling on a broken chair. If i didn't hurt the knee at that moment, i would hit an inverted floor lamp or broken locker door or something else from among the scattered things. My flat at the moment reminds me of the crashed Titanic definitely and diligently.
Electronic sounds. Thick acrid smoke. Clothes and raged paper in the floor confusedly.
- And why?
I'm walking on tiptoe almost reflexly and sitting quietly on the sofa edge.
- Why?
His unintelligible snarling means my stupid questions being my personal problem.
- Why haven't you called, i mean?
- You know... No, I'm fine.
- You aren't.
- I am! You! God damn it! Go to hell! And... And get lost, you...
He's jumping up and rushing around the room. I can't explain actually how i've managed to catch him before likely getting injures.
- What the fuck do I need that for?
- I. Am. Just. Asking. You aren't, are you?
If i had been able to stand his oversensitively curling into a ball with turning to the wall resentfully or even all his barely audible desperate sobs, i wouldn’t have been me.
Never mind, i’ll wait.
- I… I feel… like sleeping…
Whispering. To be continued. I see it to infer so clearly.
- You know… I didn’t… want …to tell not to … worry… something like…
- A day? Two? Tree? Four? Five?
A weak sob. I was several times told he had been being involved in extraordinary interesting action during all previous week. And i’ve been being involved in hard and exhausting one actually. Oh, i wished i had known.
- Wake up.
- What… I don’t wa… stop, where are we going?
A scarf, a coat, all this bootlace in his warm winter boots. How it seemed to him, i wised i knew. It might have been something like mind flash – claims, offences, debates in taxi, then impotent fury with maybe a bit of subconscious gratitude, then glare from the white and choking sigh because of cold breath with almost pain inside of lungs, then crazy laugh with tumbling in the snow like a child, laughing, laughing, swinging his arms, falling, screaming rapturously and slurred, caching occasionally someone’s look… My, surely.
We are standing in a bus stop with my actual standing and his clinging to me in happy twilight sleep and with being absolutely impossible for anybody to catch a cab there. So we have at least forty minutes before next flabby bus would probably come.
- Ohh, yeeh… go oon…
Close, warm, almost embarrassed whisper.
- Could the death be a boat? No, the death couldn’t be a boat – the death is nothingness, nobody could not be in a boat. I often wasn’t in boats. You often were not in boats.
I’m glad to find no answer but just weak snicker, much more than to detect bus creeping around the highway corner.
I’m pressing his back to the rail. He’s lowering his head on my shoulder and closing his eyes. I’m sharing my earphone and turning on.
Silver-blue and infra-yellow fire flashes in the dark air out of our slow refuge.
Snow in flakes.
Bus windows covered with ice.
Stuffy and cold.
Sense of unreality is so suitable to fights with insomnia.
Old lady gets out of the bag her portable coat hook, hangs it on the rail and places her luggage on it.
Two young lovers kiss, embrace closely and exchange their hats – unisex teen style, you know.
Wild bearded men in cap over tanker hat invites little girl to give place to, she looks frightened, he frowns but then approves behavior in a such way for crimes to be prevented - i would advice him to name his daughter suitable to polar explorer’s one, Isolda, i mean.
We are standing in the crowd, inside the crowd with my being certainly almost alone because of dream and even twilight sleep was told not to be existence. He is happy now, i hope. He is smiling at least, my friend, and it worth my constant terrible fatigue. More than, i should say.