It was overcast, even a little wet, but the streets of Washington didn't seem so damp as usual. The excitement of various things that were hard to achieve only made the situation worse. However, there was something about it that gave meaning to life.

Hardin, with a rough but not forceful slam of the closet, only snorted loudly and shook his head. The discontent of the day was already creeping into his head, activating all the neurons responsible for emotions, even if they were false.

In the evening, when the party was going to be held, Hardin wanted to appear only to distract himself from the accumulated problems. After all, it was necessary to ignore the troubles in his head at least sometimes, as they grew like weeds on their own.

He read for only an hour and a half, and when it began to annoy him even more than usual, Hardin simply slammed the book shut, resting his arms on the armrests and his head back on the pillow. His emotions were eating him up from the inside. Hardin was tired.

But in the evening, when everyone was gathered, the guy miraculously found himself at this fucking party. Sipping beer on the couch, the man just chatted with his friends, albeit not very interestedly.

Hardin, slightly pushing away another girl, just looked into the void thoughtfully. Hearing a friend's question, he shrugged, looking at the window, where darkness and stars were visible. The man's gaze was apathetic, eerily indifferent. He smelled of indifference, but what would Hardin do? Nothing. Biting his lower lip, he took a deep breath and stood up. It would be easier for him to leave the room and be alone with himself.

And so it was. Hardin Scott, a fan of reading, had already searched the entire library. As he read, he felt as if he were not alone in the room. "Rats on the ship?” the man remarked sarcastically, but also indifferently, as he closed the book.