Dusty, sunny wind, drunken conversations and awkward smiles.

The jaws of gravity are eating him up like a bear trap. The centered sun is a burning, greedy thing with lots of hands, and they're all reaching out, reaching out, taking away the happiest thing he's ever had. Newton's soul is just dust in orbit. It has always been so. It will always be like this. He will always look for you further, breaking the rings again and breaking through the loops.

This is how the sun opens his skull, this is how life begins — with the last breath.

His life began at the moment of arrival on earth. Anthea, his home planet, was on the verge of drought. He wouldn't let that happen. Here, on Earth, madness awaited him without coffee and sleep on the side of the sheets — to dissolve into each of the suns of your eyes and tear off the rays. Bruising without principles and bouts of love without the ability to express it. You have clay nests for swallows in your hands, your heart is in his, and he promises that even if it means nothing to you, he will keep it under his shirt, buttoning even the top button.

True love lives in soft blankets and homemade movie projectors — no one believes it, but Thomas does, and he also believes that you just can't give it up. There are many things that bring people together — these are joint trips to the theater, and conversations about stars and dying whales, and old photo albums.

And movies. Movies have an amazing ability to bring people closer together.

Evening sunlight pierces the room, laying on the walls and floor with soft yellow rays. They run through the paint on the sharp cheekbones, play in Thomas's red hair and on milky-white fingers. The movie projector plays a black-and-white movie, but the alien doesn't care. his gaze is fixed on you. "It’s the stupidest thing I've ever seen."