A middle-aged man stands in a gray fog.
Covered throughout the capital. On the streets there was not even a passer-by, only a soothing silence.
.
The only one standing here
.
"What time is it?"
.
He murmured faintly, looking around what he saw, only a towering building.
.
"How do you know?"
.
A stiff joke was uttered with cold laughter. He kept walking aimlessly, only praying in his heart to find a way out.
.
The sound of humming, even the sound of footsteps, echoed throughout the area, and he walked tirelessly, walking around the jewelry store, the clothing store he saw hundreds and thousands of times.
.
Compliment the fake beauty that was repeatedly invented in the head.
.
Until circling back at the beginning.
.
"What time is it?"
.
Do the same repeatedly
.
"How do you know?"
.
As if it were something to pay for.
.
As if unable to say or act otherwise.
.
As if it were a pity cycle.
.
It's like asking God for forgiveness.
.
Until a real solution is found.
.
It's not just God's words.





























































