“I remember, as if it were yesterday, how, walking heavily, he dragged himself to the old bad pine tree, leaned his shoulder on it, sighed and sat down wearily on the ground. His hands were shaking, he took out an amazing soft bottle from his backpack and began to drink and, having drunk half of it, froze, as if listening to himself, checking whether the water was distributing correctly through his insides? Then he pulled his head into his shoulders and remained sitting, just like a frozen seagull...”