You liked to sit like this: between trent's long skinny legs stretched out to the sides, covered with holey jeans, and with your back to someone else's face, from whose overly calm and often sleepy gaze you always wanted to turn away. You've always denied your violent nihilistic nature, considering yourself taller and smarter than the rest, and so it is, but... Still, you're a teenager.

Yes, not like your peers, definitely not like that.

Unlike many of your classmates, you had brains and a pair of eyes that could read letters. however, you weren't sure if you wanted to have this skill right now: At the moment, your eyes saw too strange text. There was a notebook in your hands. Drawn in crooked sketches with a blue ballpoint pen, gray-blue, trent usually asked not to look at it. But asked for it today. The songs of his band, mystik spiral are a fucking surrealism that defies explanation.

What you saw now was not much different from other crazy nonsense, but this was the first time you had seen this particular crazy nonsense. The next strange lines seemed funny to you, but you didn't laugh, didn't even smile, promising yourself to be more serious and restrained. Besides, you could feel trent tense up behind your back.

"Well, haven't had anything about nuclear communists yet." You smiled at that. Trent liked your jokes. Trent liked you. It’s not like you're ready to trot after the first boy who falls in love with you.… But anyway, Trent is not some boy, right? And certainly not the first one.

It’s probably stupid and shameful to fall in love with unemployed twenty-two-year-old musicians. That’s probably why you're always so embarrassed next to him, especially when Jane made comments about it.