Yesterday I met someone again, who appeared as if he could only come from a somewhat overwrought screenplay, hardly exist in reality so.
Of course, he is an artist.
No, do not worry, he's not me and not a writer.
As if it was, as I said, from the film, he lives in the middle of the city in a Kate, a hermitage, as I previously barely seen.
Practically everything is so easy to get around.
And again, as a fiction: A heavy blow deprived him of his long practical possibilities as a musician. But it goes again. I've heard it.
And it is the entirely peaceable man (again?) One physis, with about sixty, I would like to advise any naughty twenties, compulsively to connect with him.
And still so much weakness in addition to all the power!
I do not know if we'll meet again. Anyway intentionally. Maybe I was him finally to strenuous. It is up to him.
Can, should you so one man to help at all looking for?
What is he, except Dionysian evenings, want nor hear?
Was I ever there? Was it really probably two hours?
I have, quite deliberately, not only because I loaded some wine, the address is not noticed. I only know about where his Kate.
Like as if I watched the strange artist. Or I will.
