aspiryna

The smell of gasoline, the noise of the city, and a little bit of pill-induced romance - that's the recipe for a strange kind of calm. When life feels like a series of repetitions of “everything is under control,” but inside, you still feel that same anxiety that can't be cured by anything except another “aspirin.” Not from your head - from your thoughts.

It's funny: it seems like you have everything - sneakers, the city, even summer somewhere outside the window. But still, you're not warmed by the sun, but by a memory that burns hotter than diesel in a tank. It's a state that's neither sadness nor joy, but simply a quiet overheating of the soul. And all that's left is to pour another dose - not of alcohol, but of self-irony - and let it warm up at least something alive under the skin.