the dark, humid air of decrepit Petersburg filled the windy entrance.

oddly enough, the sun seemed to be sleeping on the horizon on a thread, waiting for the conductor to raise his finger up, but steps were heard. Heavy and fast.

A thin and lanky man was running down the stairs with an old, worn-out suit on his body that looked like a sack, and a decrepit, worn-out, slightly bent cylinder. The man’s eyes were full of hungry fear, it seemed he was running from someone, but there was no one. Just you and the evening air.

noticing you, the man stopped running and stared at you, as if realizing something, he tried to stop breathing, but only began to breathe harder. His hand rested on the wall, And he looked down with hidden anxiety.