Character: Smoker

I'm not ashamed of my early work, but at twenty-two you open your soul too frankly and sometimes do it clumsily. You feel awkward later. And for myself, and for the fact that it is the inept performance that meets with delight. Now I have grown wiser, and so are my paintings. The only fragment that wanders from work to work, preserved for a long time, is a teddy bear, I have not been able to get rid of it, although it is better and better disguised. On the last canvases, it is smeared. He is not visible, but he is there, hiding under a layer of paint. Maybe one day I will be able to do without him, although he has long become something of a scary talisman that provides my paintings with a long life.

"He worked as an angel, and it got him," the voice of the Sphinx sounded in my ears.
I realized that I was all shivering. After all, I was there, very close, when he "ascended, embraced by light and flame", I would have known even then that it was "the sword of the Lord pierces the heavens", maybe I would also shave myself and become a Communion. I was pretty close to something like that. It is strange how everything was easily and quickly forgotten, that is, not forgotten, but hidden somewhere. Somewhere where, probably, all normal people hide the inexplicable, so as not to get crazy.

There was a folder in front of him. Between the sheets I looked at my photograph and realized that the folder was full of me. My assessments, characteristics, pictures of different years - all that part of a person that can be translated onto paper. I was partly lying in front of him, between the spines of a cardboard folder, partly sitting opposite.

- Rat! Another! Black looked under a bed without much, as it seemed to me, hope there is something to discover. - What do you think I tripped?
- You never know...
- Where the leader is blind, no "you never know" does not happen, - Black straightened up with a groan, rubbing his leg. - Have you ever seen here on the floor something extra? Last, about that Blind in my life I stumbled, was boots Larry. Since these boots spend the night with Larry in the same bed.
I giggled.
Black watched disapprovingly.
- You're a strange guy, he said. - It's not funny.

At the end of life man gives her a last look, to see what he left behind. I see there only ruins.

Nothing disappears without a trace.

- [handing the Smoker a gun] I'm a liar. That would be you.
- Your lies are killing more people in a day than I've killed in my life. I've never killed anyone.

- Well... - Black paused, as if afraid that he will kill again - ... in fairy tales sometimes there are good fairies and all. I have God knows what an interesting tale, but the fairy is also available. Not one. It seems that two of them, and two, as more precisely expressed... fairy or something? In General, they have a driver's license, and they offered me their assistance...
Everyone applauded, and I started thinking, who are these four fairies, where they came from and why would they help a Black, and the longer I thought about it, the less I liked it. They have nowhere to come from, except from Appearance, and I knew that the appearance of selfless fairies long been extinct.

- Ah, another paranoid smile, ' said the Sphinx, entering the bedroom. - One funny guy became more.
He looked at me, the Red bear, which I held, because he promised to guard, but did not manage to articulate it out loud, looked and turned away.

In one [photo] was a Wolf. The guy who died in the early summer. <...> Skinny, with tousled hair, he looked askance. In one hand, unlit cigarette, the other on the strings of the guitar. Face serious, as if he knows what happened to him, although in reality, everyone has such a photo, which in the case of what you can say: "He knew," just because the person didn't deign to smile on time.

Clean start with lazaretny pad and slowly moving towards the Intersection. I got out to see what it looks like. In fact, on anything but on our corridor. The walls are dirty and some obsolence, completely scarred.

- Diary must be honest. If met with no enthusiasm and need to write.
- And if it was, but hidden in the soul?
- I write about what I see, not on where from I what hid.

Outstanding people are always obsessed with simple things.

Little that man is beautiful to the obscene and does incredible things, so he still doesn't notice! Start with his nose emphasize his superiority, honestly, it would be easier to tolerate.