I had a tea with apple and cinnamon on the central market in Istanbul. I was sitting at the same table with drug dealers and beggers on the Sao Paolo square in Lisbon. My hands were caressing body of girl, whose name I didn’t know. It was in Moscow. I ate kippers in Amsterdam. I was young and naïve. I read Hemingway and Jack London and trusted their courage. I didn’t know that behind each written word was bourbon and loneliness. My head was full of stupid dreams. At that time I was driving around the world and sinking in the dreams about literature. I wanted to be a new Kerouac. I wanted to live brightly and drink Calvados like Remark`s heroes. I wanted everything and nothing at the same time. I was 20.
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun? I didn’t notice when I graduated from the university…. 10 years ago? 12 years ago? 5 years ago? Nobody gives a shit. My wife doesn’t remember when my birthday is, I don`t remember how old she is. But she looks really old. We don’t love each other and our kids also don’t love us. Peter? Jimmy? Elizbeth? No difference. They study at school or at the university. Maybe they have some secrets. I don`t care. I am tired.
Spring came, I am getting to take my car from the repair. I remember damask roses. I remember that square in Lisbon and begger`s jokes. I remember Amsterdam`s beauty and Moscow`s majesty. I remember Hemingway. I am not 20 anymore but my head still is full of stupid dreams.
I was living off nothing, but at least I was living.
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