#francescobarone

Author: Natalia_Phelps. Editor: Natalia_Phelps, Olga Lobova. Fandom: Il volo.

Even if you have a big family, many friends and lovely job, no guarantees that you do not jump into the lone abyss every evening.

His apartment is not a place where He can hurry after job. Most likely, it is a concrete box where He can wanton away his time from end of one day’s work to start of another day’s work. Here, all the same, no one is waiting for Him.

The rare visitors – friends, brother…

The best friends – coffee, books and cigarettes. Sometimes, light intoxicating to mind alcohol.

He rarely communicates with His parents and younger sister. «Huge thanks» to His job. And it happens only with help of video calls. Although a piece of iron, filled with lots of wires, chips and stuff, is not able to give warmth, love and care. He almost lost the habit.

Lying on the sofa, covering His naked body with a thin blanket, He looks at the ceiling - white and smooth. Perfect.

Familiar male voice hears from loudspeakers. Moderate. Space. Yeah, James Blake is an excellent performer. Texts, passing through the prism of music, echoes in His heart, as well as on the walls of the spacious, devoid of an unnecessary furniture and an interior items, bedroom.

One hand bent at elbow and lays behind head, between fingers of another hand smolders the cigarette. Thin smoke thread gracefully meanders in the air like a beautiful dancer. Each bend are captivating and bewitching.

Powerful streams of cool, fresh wind from time to time bursts through the open window. The edge of posters with reproductions of few paintings world art rustles, trying to be as quiet as possible.

He makes a toke and shakes off the cigarette dross in the ashtray, standing on the edge of the sofa. Strong taste of the tobacco has always helped to distract. Not for a long time but it does not matter. The large flow of information, having subdued the mind, is burdens. They often are causes of headaches and insomnia.

Environmental problems, children’s lives, human rights, culture, art...

A long exhalation and a cloud appears before the eyes. He looks Her. Rave. Madness. She is illusion. This is axiom. The wind scatters smoke and, with it, the image of Her which He will give His body, heart and soul, someday.

Corners of the lips, flinching, congeals into a half smile.

A new toke. Ravishing. «Sweet» potion mixes with blood and flows through the veins, filling every cell of the organism.

He closes eyes and lifts the chin. A plume of smoke. Again. Slowly opens eyelids. Takes off the glasses, lays aside and grips the thumb and the index fingers bridge of the nose. Screw up one's eyes.

A deep breath. A sharp exhalation.

Physical fatigue is no less disgusting than psychological. Visit to athletic gym in plans. Tomorrow. Thinks all will pass but pain in the muscles is alleged.

The last toke and He extinguishes the cigarette, staying the ashtray on the floor near footstool of sofa. Produces smoke from mouth, lies on back. Right hand - behind the head, left hand – on solar plexus.

Notification. Message from brother:

«FR4304, Ryanair. Arrival time: Tomorrow in 11:00 PM».

Smile. He closes eyes.

It will all come out in the wash.

He knows.