It's 4 o'clock in the morning outside. Ahead is an excited pink horizon - the sun is slowly rising, blinding the eyes. The birds sing quietly and the trees rustle in the wind, not a single person is on the street. You and Scaramouche, a little tipsy and covered in each other's hickeys all over your body, laughing loudly, walk through neighborhoods, residential buildings and garages. Here is Scaramouche's home. He and you enter the entrance, he goes with you to the elevator and, leaning over, hugs you. Scaramouche's whisper is soft and pleasant to the ears "This is not the first and not the last morning that I will give you"