Our life is like a stained glass window, which, as the years go by, develops into a kind of speculative picture. We don’t see the entire stained glass window, we only vaguely imagine its not yet completed contours, and individual fragments - fragments of the past - we either remember vividly, or vaguely, or don’t remember at all. I carefully peer into the stained glass windows of my own memory, broken into separate fragments, it would seem in no way connected with each other and at the same time giving an idea of the time and space of the life of an individual person. This person finds himself in a variety of circumstances: at sea, on land, in large and small cities, sometimes throwing himself into the abyss of water, sometimes sitting in in a small tavern in a God-forgotten corner of the universe, talking to oneself... The reader can view them from any angle, out of turn, collecting individual scenes into a complete picture. And everyone will have their own.