мало-помалу

Attractions without instructions, lemonade running out, the racetrack creaking, and serotonin seemingly promised to be poured straight from the ticket office. It all resembles an amusement park with peeling posters: a little dangerous, a little funny, a little childishly scary. A carousel with propaganda of happiness and glasses flying off your nose when the picture suddenly stops being rosy.

But even among the scraps of wires and someone's crumpled promises, there is a stubborn thought - little by little, everyone will get their main prize anyway. Not because it's guaranteed, but because there's no other way: not a step back, not a hemisphere to the side, only forward - between the narrow rows where fear, fun, and the feeling that life is still a bit of an attraction are mixed together.