кфс/адідас

The nightly routine seems to be made up of small contrasts: after CrossFit, nausea, then a moment of self-caressing and a glance at the sky, as if checking to see if the universe is peeking in. These touches reveal both the raw honesty of the body and a ridiculous attempt to joke about oneself, like in a comic strip where the main character constantly returns home with a melted milkshake in his hands.

Love is described as a strange ritual, where a kiss coexists with a feeling of one's own invulnerability and, at the same time, helplessness. Death whispers to its affairs: it's not scary, just learn - there is more irony and gentle fatigue in this phrase than pathos. Sleep turns into a small victory over anxiety - ‘just let me sleep’ sounds almost like a mantra for a tired city.

The urban landscape - KFC, milkshakes, smoke in the apartment - turns into a home altar of habits. Loneliness here is not a tragedy, but rather a warm blanket with a hole in it: comfortable and a little sad, but accepted as a fact. And in the end, the feeling remains that it is possible to live like this: with an emptiness that can be loved, and with unexpected beauty that suddenly slips between habits.