Saturday night. Peter was lying placidly on his sofa. Though placidly it is not the word that described the state of disturbance he was suffering at the time.
He had spent the whole afternoon observing the contents of his suitcase, the one he secretly kept at the back of his bedroom closet, hidden among the dirty clothes in the corner. But soon he got bored with it and put it away again. The image of Corinne could not be removed from her head. And he still couldn"t find her.
Now he was stretched out on his sofa. And a small oval cup, filled with a translucent brown liquid, swayed in his right hand.
“It’z insane...Because aim lik thiz...”.
“It’z insane...Because aim lik thiz...”Inside the glass, the indefatigable friend of long, lonely nights, Jackie, rocked quietly in the glassed-in in
