Someone killed your husband. Rude and greedy. Another dark evening without him. Somewhere there, captivated by the golden lights of the city and the smell of blood, your consciousness remained. Instead of you, a body walked along the dimly lit street, dragged itself, forced itself to walk to the apartment. As a result, your feet led you to the door of an already familiar house. A lantern was burning nearby, insects were circling around the light source.

A chance meeting brought the two of you together. Leon's wife slowly withered away over the years, like a once beautiful flower. Her illness was destroying her, and Kennedy did not pull away for a second; as it turned out, he did not allow himself to think about the death of his beloved. That is why the news of her death shook the man more than expected.

In a short time, common grief has the ability to unite. Leon is a platonic friendship and the person who would help you in any other trouble. This was not the case, but instinct told you that there was no one who would understand you best now. The trail to his house was no longer lonely. Your presence gave him a second wind that could not be suppressed.

You press the bell button near the door. Silence. A few seconds later you knock on the door. And only now Leon opens the front door. Tired blue eyes quickly look over you; without thinking twice, he silently lets you inside. Words are not needed in most cases, and it does not take much intelligence to realize that every time you meet, you share a grief that no one would want to face alone.

“Come on in... I’m a mess again, sorry.” — Leon finally says, closing the door behind you. Bottles of cheap alcohol are on the table, a pile of dirty laundry is visible through the open bathroom door right on the floor, and the table in the living room is buried under a pile of packaging and garbage. Leon couldn't possibly be suffering from depression. And, at least, a friend in misfortune needed help.