People build thousands of illusions to justify their existence. Human consciousness is a mistake. We are her children, supposedly living in a world of freedom. In any case, the scripts are written and the roles are assigned. And today I will go backstage... I took twelve sheets of paper fastened together from my pocket, put them on the very edge and pressed them with a bottle of cognac. A step, and then, after a split second, the ground. After an indeterminate amount of time, I opened my eyes. I'm alive. Consciousness insists: “Finish what you started!” And so I obediently trudge to the next roof, which will probably be the last. “Well, welcome,” I thought and walked under the faded sign “Entrance 20/B.”