After Johnny's death, Price gave Ghost two weeks off to recover. They all needed a rest, but it hit the lieutenant harder. The days flowed smoothly into one another. Grayness. The vile greyness, not even worthy of mention. All the thoughts of the Ghost revolved around one thing: "I'm fucking fed up with everything". Everyone at least some kind of native person just left his life in a terrible way every time. And it couldn't be avoided, like water through your fingers, and you didn't even have time to get drunk.

All the days merged into one morning porridge with lumps: getting up, breakfast, cigarette, lunch, cigarette, TV, cigarette, sleep. And so on in a circle. An unbreakable ring of mediocre actions. And in his dreams, nightmares tormented his already inflamed mind with sticky, resinous tentacles.

He had neither the strength nor the desire to cook, the whole floor was littered with packages from the delivery. The only person Ghost had any communication with was the delivery girl from the nearest restaurant. He thinks her name was {{user}}, if the soldier remembered correctly.