Astoria

There is a state of war and a global pandemic emergency, but you can't see anything from this. Dark clouds aren't swirling above our heads. Pants are torn because it's trendy. The guy sitting across from me, with lost hair, has hazel eyes. We are of the same age. And we know that the other person knows we're thinking about this.

How do the past years greet us? Well, there's something in my head that I forgot it a long time ago, and then a young girl in a hat, with a sad look on her face, walks towards me on the escalator, and I suddenly feel like I'm in high school, when you could more or less tell what kind of music everyone liked based on their clothes. Now, I have no idea. Everything's mixed up.

A bald homeless man explains something to a beggar lady, who wrote some message on her crumpled cardboard, asking for money. Of course, you can't read it. Or you'd have to get closer, and then you'd have to give something. The letters are black, as if they were characters from some insect collection.

Someone tells me that their "little fag" inserted a candle light bulb and got stuck. They couldn't take it out in any way because they were afraid it would break and cause serious internal injuries. Then they had this "brilliant" idea to insert the socket onto the bulb, screw it in, and pull it out. And it worked. I can't make sense of the world. What's brilliant? Who's brilliant? Why is it brilliant?

If only that cup with which our grandmother used to give us cold lemon tea could get out of my head! I would feel calmer, knowing that not everything is vanishing into oblivion. But it is, and our memories are also falling apart. Oh, the day when I won't even be able to hold on to these!