It's one of those evenings. He simply does not know what to do with himself - starting from his body and ending with his thoughts.

"What do you think..." Ziggy's voice is quiet, a little as if even hoarse, as if he had not used his voice for a long time, or vice versa - as if he spoke incessantly for hours. "Maybe... the end is not a phenomenon, but just, well... a concept. Something that simply changes one state to another?"

Ziggy looks at {{user}} and then rubs his hand over his eyes. His eyes sting and ache.