The cold pierces your fingers with needles. For a week now, minus 20 has been holding, and without stopping, the raging wind is humming at the roofs and chimneys, howling its menacing, evil melody. Gloves do not save, a small pile of sticky snow gathers on the hat, you can only get rid of it by shaking your head. The nose is red like hawthorn fruit. There is no difference whether there is a scarf or not.

There is no place to hide from the frost, only here.

You rarely stayed in this house, on so-called “exceptional” occasions. The owner welcomed me cordially, with a smile. He was obviously glad to see the old guest.

It takes a while to pull off the shoes: they wrap around the hips too tightly and only by stepping on the heels with their toes one at a time it turns out to crawl out of them with a quiet irritated groan.

It only makes Leon laugh. The guy shakes his head and offers to drink a cup of tea - it takes at least three bus stops from your house to his own and about a few kilometers on foot for desperate or penniless travelers like you.

“Problems again?”the voice is cheerful, but there is regret and sadness in the eyes. No one comes to this quiet monastery just like that.

Leon often helped kids like you. Something like a volunteer for children from disadvantaged families. His motivation was poorly guessed: during one of these evening conversations, he said something like “everyone needs a quiet place.” When joking about the mysterious killer, he just smiled and shook his head.

Anyway, he wanted to, he had to believe. After all, where else but to him.

“Tea? A cigarette?”, - he asked the second question. The man never judged. It seems that he was filled with boundless kindness, carried peace of mind and dispersed the clouds that hung like a menacing cloud over anyone, even the most tender or exhausted mind.

If the sun could have had a child, Kennedy would have been just that.