I am thinking of you, dearest darling. Of the times when my fringe was sticking on my forehead and that was a fashionable choice. The times when I was wearing a shirt for a dress and could not smell the dirty loneliness of the vast city. The times when I could only feel the excitement and the filth and nothing else; when I did not need to earn a living, when I only had to walk and read. I was good at that. Now I have to earn a living; how tiring; to sacrifice everything you have in order to hate yourself every morning. And to be scared that even that shitty job of yours will be taken away from you one day. That, which makes you drug yourself every morning and have chocolate for breakfast and crisps for lunch.