Al Quotion. The Part Of Improvisation (№ 153718)

I walked to where the city ends. I walked through the bustling streets, where colorful cars turn into black-and-white people with sad eyes, and the lights of the highways dazzle the eye and maddening the beautiful night. I walked across the dusty roofs of houses, where stray cats can smell crazy spring, and the wild doves eat from the hands, watching with round eyes for an awkward funny person who has brought in the pockets of the bread. I walked through the parks, where the symmetry of flowers adjusted to the angularity, but children's laughter is heard more often. I walked to where the city ends. Where you and I sit down on the beach and will look into slowly red in the horizon, not in a hurry, telling each other nonsense and laughing shared memories. But where was the out one city, the other begins. And again hooted the car, were going out of the train, people were rushing to live, knocking the feet of random Rosa, and someone else wanted us... We had a short goodbye with a handshake, we ran for, infinitely reflected in growing in the eyes of the Windows, we talked about the most important, but flew the plane and the sound of our voices melted... then it snowed. As if from nowhere. As if a miracle. Just one morning we woke up, left the house, and the city was no more. Was the wilderness, the starry sky under my feet, there was light and there was silence. And then I looked up, staring into the blueness, and understand where the city ends.