Strange how these days remind me of six years prior. SIX YEARS! Can I enumerate the situations which have held me in limbo since then? They are not to be numbered. They cannot be. I shall go out to smoke a cigarette, down the spiral stairs and onto the parking lot. Delivery men will watch me passively.
Oh, the boss is here. What shall I do? If I have to sit here all day doing nothing important, I shall squeeze my own liver out of my torso and feed it to the bastards who make me live a life which is unimportant.
Jenicek was far away. I remember that clearly. I watched my face in the mirror in the elevator as I descended to take my cigarette. My mind was on the future. On a future that was not particularly defined (everything now seemed to me wanted defined). Vesna was at home (was it home? not really) waiting. I passed time wasting the internet with my intentions. I got no further than earning money for doing nothing. Is it possible in this case, six years later? That is a fucking good question, my friend.
Petr now describes some easy to understand concept on the white-board to Jan whilst I listen to Magma in the headphones Vladimir supplied me. It is only ironic in a deadly passive way. No questions for me, for sure. I am a rock untouched by the lapping waves of questions. For now, I shall not erode.
