Book: Don't want

People are like pickles: some are phlegmatic, like pickled cucumbers, others are cheerful, but loose, like pickled tomatoes, others are sad and therefore unattractive, like pickled cabbage. Everyone, rolled into the banks of their apartments, languished and waited in line for an autopsy. Depression was in the air, along with the tinsel of this time of year. Only greedy overwhelming love could save the skin of the average person, for example mine. I was saved. I didn’t blather, I already knew that if someone loved you, we should cherish it. This tram could be the last one. Then wait, freeze, get angry. It's not a fact that it will work yet. Not the fact that something else will suit you, will suit you.