Записка 8

The night quietly shimmers in neon, as if spreading across the windshield. The city hums, but inside there is silence, so thick that even my heart beats slowly. It seems that in a moment, the streets themselves will tell me where to go, where she is. The search here is more like a spell: the engine is running, the navigation is off, and there is a stubborn desire to find not a person, but a reflection, a soul mate, the one who flickers somewhere between the streetlights and the moons. The wind whips his face, and in his chest is the light from the headlights and a little madness. And all this is not like a chase, but like a prayer whispered to the soundtrack of his own thoughts.