Character: Crazy

This is the downfall of my career! No... It's all temporary, Wakky can't kick me out, he loves me like a son!

My mom cried because I thought that I'm not a full member of society like my neighbor who has Legionnaire's disease.

When I got here, the first time my parents ever said he was proud of me.

- Guys, if you have bad cooks head...
But the head not pot?!
What? Head, pot... What's the difference?
- No, please continue!

The time for the events of the night. And certainly not the noon: the sun shines too bright, the shadows wait. The sky radiates heat, nothing under it will not move. Who will intrigue sunlit reality? The intrigue brings midnight, when the shade of the trees, lifting up the hems, slip in a smooth dance. The wind picks up. The leaves are falling. Echo steps. Beams and creaking floorboards. With wings cemetery angel cedida dust. Shadow soaring on Raven wings. Before dawn they fade the lights for a short time, the city fades.
It was at this time born mystery, a Mature adventure. Not at dawn. All holding my breath so as not to miss the darkness to save the horror to keep them on a leash the shadows.

In a minute - I think I need to call peg. Peg, I'll say - marry me. Come to Venice today. Come home. We will work together to starve, but life will be beautiful, I swear to God! Come finally for me, peg, and save me, so I don't go in alone and abandoned. Save me, peg!
And she will tell me on the phone and coming.

- Everyone should have two or three classes, - I said without thinking. - One case as little as one life. I'd like a dozen lives and a dozen works.
- Beat precisely in the purpose! The doctor have to dig ditches. Digger once a week on duty in the kindergarten. Philosophers twice in ten days to clean dirty and greasy dishes. Mathematics may run classes in the school gymnasiums. Poets for a change let them drive a truck. And police detectives...
- ...needs to plant their own gardens, quietly I finished.

It always starts well. But how rarely the history of the people, the history of small and big cities has a happy ending.
Things fall apart, transformed beyond recognition. Spreading. Breaks the connection times. Milk sours. At night in the drizzling fog of wires strung on high poles, tell scary stories. The water in the channels fades from foam.

After all, with a secret love is not looking for meeting, I want to dream that sometime in the night she will come out of your fortress and go on the sand and the wind chasing her, will cover up her tracks that she will stop near your house, knock on the window, will start to unwind the film, pouring out in the images on the ceiling of my soul.