Someone has turned his sweater inside out. In the evening, the light seemed to move closer to my skin and there is a happiness flickering in front of my eyes. It is all about the surface, I sailed around on the surface of everything. Afterwards it was the unrest, the lonely unrest of waking in days torn and quiet. Some light fires and turn into hesitant smoke, while others forever stiffen up and become like stone. Like reading forgotten newspapers.