I reached the point, when I don’t want to die. I just simply don’t want to exist. Suicide would be a messy thing, hard to clean up. Picture this instead, I’m just walking on the Lexington avenue, there’s a sewer, steam coming out. I step over the sewer, and I’m simply disappeared. At the moment I was smiling to a beautiful asian girl. She’s confused, but she’ll forget me as soon as her boyfriend hugs her at home. The only clue I left behind is a wet footprint on the sidewalk. But that will disappear as the sun comes out behind the clouds. My luggage left in a storage box at La Guardia. A few decades later it will play a major role in a Storage Wars episode. The looters will be fascinated by the printed Hungarian books. They’re gonna treat them as an archaeologists a memory from a civilization that is long gone.
Kreknyák Bálint Jonatán, baker
