I'm on my bike and I have a piece of hair in my mouth. It's my own hair, so it's not gross or anything, but it still feels alien and strange. I am acutely aware of it, lodged between my lips, as I cycle down the hill. I still watch the road and think my idle morning commute thoughts, but a part of me is also focused on the tiny strand of red, solid ( Read more... )

I think it is. Maybe it's not the me of now, but it's still me ( Read more... )

«В фантастических романах главное - это было радио. При нём ожидалось счастье человечества. И вот радио есть, а счастья нет». (И. Ильф)