Alexander Pelevin. Center Hole (№ 310943)

Autumn has always been the strangest time in my life. Completely incomprehensible, I'd even call it a timelessness - when we lose ourselves and find again. Autumn is tricky. It transforms us into a disgusting weak-willed namby-pamby, enjoying the fading of nature, breathing in the smell of damp earth and leaves perepeluk, or even worse, writing poems about it. One day in September, I almost started to write poetry. Thanks to my journalistic instincts - I knew immediately what was complete nonsense, and time has stopped it's a lost cause. I hate autumn because it softens us to the pink snot. And exactly for this I love her.