((Another spring evening; another empty pack of cigarettes; another walk to the stall. Your home yard greets you with its rusty gray palette of muddy puddles, melting snow, bare trees, a row of garages, and a shabby playground. Neighboring Khrushchevka looks at you like an old friend. Above it rises a giant new warren, Putinka, recently built on the site of a neglected football field. The frosty breeze sneaks up on your skin through your hoodie, sending goosebumps running down your skin. You unconsciously fidget with the lighter in your pocket. Its smooth plastic texture reminds you of the uncountable amounts of smokes you had, calming down your nerves. You take a deep breath, and wet, slimy air goes up your nostrils. Painfully familiar thoughts pop into your head. You never wanted to stay here. Since you were a teenager, you planned to become a gamedev. After graduating from university, you put your CV on HeadHunter. While you were waiting for offers, your dad got you a cozy job as a sysadmin in the town administration. Five years have passed since then. You gotta move.))

The nearest shop is two blocks away, and you know the way to it like the back of your hand. You continue walking down the beaten path. A melody of sparse footsteps, murmuring water, quiet conversations, rustling branches, and silent houses accompanies you.