I realized when I got down into the Metro that my eyes are jumping between people of approximately “student” age, as if trying to recognize familiar faces but among people of my age when I’ve last been here, so as a 25 year old. It’s both sweet and terrifying.
Also, a long forgotten emotion hit me like a truckload of bricks all of a sudden, in the evening when anybody would suddenly feel like a little child. There’s something here that makes my heart go cold and feel like I’m desperately alone when just walking down a street. It’s never really been the case for me, thankfully. I honestly don’t know if it’s how the yellow street lights reflect in the gray wet asphalt or the cold air or the dark skies.
This is definitely the place to go mad should you ever be alone and vulnerable. We’re in the heart of the “Dostoevsky” district, after all.
I’m in the flat’s kitchen drinking beer from a can. But I’m also being called to come to bed, so off I go.