Through a net of sand grains filled in your eye sockets, you see with half-opened eyes. You’re face-down on the ground. You no longer have anything to drink, the bottle’s not there anymore–it’s probably voyaging through the open sea. The sand grains rasp in your mouth. Let the waves lick all of you, and you watch how he barely rises like rolling and folding shadows, whimpering in pain and emptiness, he clenches his teeth and holds his cat, then stands for a long time, undecided, gazing at the tears in his pants around his knees, then he leaves, feeling disgust at the sullen hollowness of the stones, and with wretched, crude steps, he somehow reaches the bus stop. The pack of cigarettes is lost in the water. He pulls a crumpled smoke out of the pack and puts it in his mouth. He can’t find a
