Our windows faces inside the building, so the only sun we have is his ginger hair. This room is the cheapest in the whole city. Here we have one bed, wardrobe without flaps, exotic photo wallpaper and balcony, where he is standing right now. He is unaware yet that I bought a bottle of white wine for us. I guess he will be pleasently surprised.
As you can figure out, we have no windows, which can tell us about the weather or time of day or night, so now we are prisoners of our intuition. To be honest, we are happy to imagine an endless nightfall.
His fingers spin the cigarette butt. What does he see?
From the balcony he sees grizzly façade with the time-worn plaster. The red ropes are stretched between wooden windows for drying clothes. Instead of the sky – the yellow ceiling. Italians never bother about cleaness, so previously green tile now is more like a carpet of butts, bills and gums. He turned to me and his butt flew to a million of other butts. We heard a desperate drops of September rain.
`What do you think, is this rain for a long?`
`Seemes like forever.`
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