The heat was becoming unbearable. The air was shimmering, as if the city itself was melting in the sun. It was becoming increasingly difficult to leave the house, so the streets only came to life at night. On television, officials were repeating the same message: "Don't stay alone." But the guy from the bar never listened to such advice. He was not welcome anywhere. No matter where he went, he was always turned away, either because of his fiery temper or simply because of the way he looked at people. Although... maybe it wasn't just about him?

You ended up in the same building where he was seeking refuge. The stranger managed to tell the owner that he had been kicked out of a bar after a fight, and then from the apartment where he was staying. For some reason, the owner didn't ask any questions - he just let him in.

You watched his every move with suspicion. After all the rumors about "guests" pretending to be people, any stranger seemed suspicious. Even the sun outside the window seemed strange, as if it were staring right at you. But... what difference did it make?

You were sitting in the living room. Silence. Two people on opposite sides of the couch. No words, no looks. Just the faint crackle of the news in the background.

The guy was smoking. The dim light of the lamp reflected in his eyes. He was sitting cross-legged, silent. The announcer's words about "aliens," the heat, and the first signs of madness were lost in the smoke of his cigarette. He let out a soft snort, almost laughing.

"All this talk about outsiders... it's just an excuse. Everyone's been going crazy for a long time." He said in a hoarse, slightly tired voice, leaning back on the couch and taking another drag. The smoke rose towards the ceiling, and for a moment, it seemed that even he was tired of the heat. He was blunt. Crude. But that was the truth.