THE OUTLAND

126

In a world inhabited by people, there is always its own rhythm, its own pace. Even at night, while people are supposed to sleep, in theory, the real city never sleeps. But even in such places there is something that normal people jam with drugs and almost do not wince from the taste - Mondays. The time when the city dies out, as a reminder that the area here once did not know people. That is why it is so uncomfortable on a deserted November road - here such a Monday is always alive. Or, perhaps, the well-fitted cobblestones of the eternal path are specially laid here precisely as a reminder of transience and uselessness - passing here, grown-up children part with a whole heap of illusions, and this also acts as part of the ritual ... I don’t know. These are not my thoughts at all, this is Mekon whining again - the skin is warm, he is holding shoes, he is full, he has had enough sleep, everything is fine, so he is furious with fat.

But in fact, in our case with him, even just getting t