midnight [Theme]

You will succeed!

...

In the dead midnight of being.

- Oh, *** with you. I was in Tampa, in the back of the Noodles restaurant.

What an absurd ritual: if a colossal part of the time is devoted exclusively to work, then when is it just to live?

Tongue Twisters!

Exactly at midnight, just after the rain.

“Well, I can't help you with everything,” said Miss Loomis. - But I have traveled a lot and can tell you about different places. And if you like, run tonight, at eleven o'clock, on the lawn in front of my house, and I, so be it, will shoot you with a Civil War musket, of course, if I don’t go to bed yet.

- At the last moment.

The true terrorists of our world do not gather at the docks at midnight, do not shout "Allah Akbar" before some violent action. The true terrorists of our world wear $ 5,000 suits and work in the highest positions in finance, government and business.

Maybe it's too late.
Sometimes I even hate myself for loving you
Trying to be strong then nighttime comes along and
I start loving you
Wanting you.
Where is all my selfcontrol...
I'm burning way down in my soul.

Может, слишком поздно.
Иногда я ненавижу себя за то, что люблю тебя.
Стараюсь крепиться, но наступает ночь и
Я вновь люблю тебя.
Желаю тебя.
Где же мой самоконтроль...
Я сжигаю сам себя в своей душе.

May people everywhere find hope, for the cross bows, midnight passes, and joy comes in the morning.

Why do single people like to walk at night? For many, this is a mystery, but the answer is simple: at night the streets are empty and no one needs you, as well as during the day. But at night you can find an excuse for this - everyone is asleep. And in the afternoon what to do? To go, to see how lovers coo, how parents run after children. Like someone running to work. These are terrible, but at the same time ordinary pictures of every metropolis. Therefore, it is better like a cat, a killer to go out at night. Walking slowly through the previously busy streets, but now dead, like your soul. Dark, like the blood that flowed through the veins of your victims. It's both pleasure and pain.
Now far after midnight, the streets are empty, only fine snow with raindrops hit the asphalt. Parking the car on the corner of Piccadilly, the Italian slowly walked through the dark city, which was illuminated by lanterns. She had headphones in her ears, freddie Mercury's pleasant voice soothing her soul. Icy hands were in their pockets and the streets were empty.
At night, the city seems to have died, although who knows what happens at night in people's bedrooms? Who knows, maybe in that off window lies on the bed some person, emitting a spirit, and with him sit his children, grandchildren. They sit and wait. But they are not waiting for a doctor, not for helping him. People are greedy by nature - they are waiting for their money. Maybe somewhere on the other end of foggy Albion in agony was born a new life? Maybe some teenage girl in one of the high-rise buildings quietly cried into the pillow so as not to wake her parents, because the heart experienced the first torment. The flour of first love. Maybe now at this very moment some guy was sitting in a social network trying to write a classmate a declaration of love, but was afraid that he would be laughed at. And someone at the same time saves someone's life. Maybe knowing that this person is going to die. But he doesn't back down. Believes. Maybe right now some person, whether it's an adult or, conversely, a teenager. Loner. Wolf. Creates a "left page" on some site based on his favorite novel. Could be... He believes that in this way he will be saved from the loneliness that burns through his childish soul. Or a naive soul. Maybe he will be lucky, and he will not be alone. Maybe he will find his family online. And if not? What will happen to this person? Will he be able to come to terms with the emptiness of life or, on the contrary, burying pain, he will sit on drugs, cigarettes. He will slowly die, like the rest of us. Who knows, maybe in the other side of the planet now someone is in a hurry to work. Someone laughs at someone else's trouble. Some classmate breaks the psyche of a classmate. Who knows what might be now.
But it is the night that is the mistress of the world. It is the night that rules the lives of wolves. It is the night that gives space to dream. It is the night that destroys us. It's night. Here it is - a cold street of the night foggy Albion. Here it is - a kind smile, which we give out during the day. Here it is - life. And no music, whether it's the Beatles or Queen... nothing will save you from loneliness. In a noisy metropolis. In huge London.

midnight.