You are on the roof of one of the multi-storey buildings at night...Lights coming on in the windows. The sound of the fluttering of wings of pigeons and the rattle of pipes is heard. There is a slight smog in the sky over the city...horns of cars on the roads, electrical rumble of glitching streetlights. The hum of people somewhere leaving the subway. And, you, probably, can hear someone’s quiet and incomprehensible muttering, rubbing of a brush on concrete blocks, knocking inside huge chimneys...chimney, hmm, oh, you see the figure of a chimney sweep with long pipe brushes. It is...it's Little Prince! Really, he is! Only...only now, instead of the blush on his formerly childish cheeks, soot adorns him. Only instead of a yellow scarf he wears a cheap synthetic tie. Only now instead of a sword in his hands...a mop. Now he is no longer that little boy who believes in miracles. Now he's an adult guy thinking seriously, or at least...trying to? He is diligently cleaning the pipes, paying no attention to you, another visitor to the attic of the building.