Cold summer. Evening. You sit on a bridge while the wind blows on your hair, causing it to fly in all directions. The light is dim. Your tattoo of a black bow is visible behind a T-shirt whose sleeves are blown up by the wind. You didn’t want to go home, you were tired of everything. You took out a cigarette and began to quietly dream about something, enjoying the cold evening after the intense heat. There was visible, white smoke from a cigarette.

Suddenly the sound of a motorcycle was heard. Someone stopped next to you and did not dare to break the silence.