Darley-city. Waiton`s alternative

Chapter first. "About everything"

He woke up at nine o'clock in the morning, realized that it was a Friday, looked into the gray from the snow leaks and fogged window, went cautiously into the kitchen, and fed the orange-blue parrot.

For order bring quickly his sleeping brain from dreams, he spill into a plastic glass a many of broken coffee beans, one-third of cream volume, added ten milliliters of water, added sugar substitute, and mixed all by mixer, poured it all in the cup.

He often had a headache in the back of the head, he did not know why the doctor claimed the opposite about diabetes, but still, Alex remembered his parents, and how they visited him last summer. Bengalius did not appear since Tuesday, but the house in the village Childdale was empty.
Ivy is a family in which all topics of life were perceived with great attention, but Alex, having matured and becoming a photographer, decided them himself, otherwise everything would have looked absurd.

Several drafts for the presentation were still on the table, on the balcony, gathering dust and occasionally reminding of their existence.

Oh, these mistakes, the time frame and the hopeless course of serenity - what else can be so boring if you don’t want to change everything to the smallest detail, go back in time, or start all the work first. No one but himself, no one could understand the situation, because he decided so, and now, after long dreams, he will have to stop it.
The energy of the pictures is what bothered the mind. Blame for this Walter Berrow knew about the problem, most likely, but did not want to help anything, as if he provoked and substituted a free letter in a simple equation. From here comes the system, and it was worth nothing to bring it to the end. And Jack Waiton is a real friend, and just had to take the right step: to find and force programmist to remake the contract.

Alex didn’t like the coffee, sugar interfered with his taste and spoiled his mood, but the guy finished his drink and went to the platform near the house.

Looking at the glass surface of the windows glowing in the distance, in the space of winter darkness, making a positive wish, he moved away from the crowd of strange people, looked down at the snowy road, turned to the left, went, creaking the sole of his boots, right along a thick layer of sticky path. Near him appeared silhouettes of snowdrifts, visible when illuminating the lanterns.

Chapter second. "Mirror of darkness"

Walking, that is, going hungry with four packages of personal belongings, after quarrels with a loved one, at night, is not very pleasant. And the strangest thing was that after talking with former acquaintances in a false form, it was also not interesting: everyone pointed to the church shelter, but they also said that it was closed at such a time. Nobody wanted to think from Alex’s position, no one was aware of the situation in its real interpretation, however, it was possible to safely and without a hint of surprise find out how other people bought a handful of goods in the store and paid huge amounts of money, working from morning to evening eight hours a day.
It could be nothing more than a mirror of darkness, a manifestation of the power of Walter Berrow's assistants.

Nevertheless, the advice remained the advice, and the words were not matched with life as well as the lemon is not used with coffee, and that is nice and that, but in turn with different dishes.
It wasn’t as hard to find a job as a trip to search for her — the guy ran around the city and recharged the battery after every humidness in on the way: ta rain drizzled almost every five minutes, as if by order. The cold often penetrated into thick woolen jacket, although previously stated, in the weather forecast "It will be sunny and the temperature will rise by two degrees".
It is not possible to live a single day without silence and without some disentanglement of logical threads, they are intertwined everywhere and do not give an opportunity to look at the world in a clear way, create a string of complex conclusions, and there is no beginning for the ending.

There were cartoons about the detective story, about the homeless, about the monk, and all this is like yesterday's event, just like plots.
He lost the help of Elizabeth Roide, but self-suggestion about patience and hard work was still present next to him. He hoped to win, to rest on time and to work quality, but it was useless to resist the onslaught of Walter; he, like hypnosis, influenced all thoughts and any glimpses of self-regulation, and, like a parasitic boa or, glaring at logic, blocked the way to free movement.
And then Alfred Berrow appeared on Alex’s way, carrying a package with multiforus and album sheets, not many people knew this lawyer, but spoke of good opinions about her “good abilities” and so on. No extra ideas arose at this meeting.

Chapter third "Darkness of thoughts"

“Having heard the word, we take it on a personal side; having heard something, we turn around; having heard a bad word, we respond to it; we don’t feel our mistakes, or we see them as irrelevant.
Others misses and awkwardness or justify dementia, or criticize to the highest level. We do not see the thread of meaning in the news, and if we see the meaning, then we don’t attach importance, for it is often ridiculous to attach importance to everything. News, information, semantic overload or lack of it drives everything crazy with the speed of the wind ... There are many questions, but they are not heard ... "- Alex Ivy’s mind visited that evening when the college guard met him, opening him the door and looking at it attentively and testing a tired look at the flickering light coming from distant indoor light bulbs.

Of course, going to the store to buy a little, quite a bit of food, for myself and a friend, cost one hundred and twenty pounds sterling, but although the cost was almost fair, except for tax deductions, interest was lost and appetite was lost, which appeared shortly before escape from Rosalie, from her apartment. All the events that happened in those moments were most likely just the rash actions of his girlfriend and the stupid reactions of himself, and yet he regretted only about himself, but that she promised to send him to St. Monica’s hospital, to church predators from which very few people returned in a sober state and / or in a healthy mind, this could have gone over the top of egocentrism or would have seemed like an oddity. The guy, even if he was obsessed, was only in the photographs for “Meps o Gaps,” a local local newspaper. And the versions of the further stay on Sorokovaya Street, which were both real and non-fulfilling, were confused in the head, like flies at the spring equinox, but he understood perfectly well that it was worth the apology, but it would be absurd - he himself was to blame for her mistakes, and this, too, as he heard, remained true in the sense that girls often accuse friends of being petty and fearless, and when, and in very unpleasant mistakes, and knowing the real circumstances, they themselves suffer from the words they said.

Alex’s parents, father’s assistant doctor of a surgeon at "Saint Aven Monica’s hospital", and mother a pastry chef at K-Jelsi’s café, although they were far away, could be convinced otherwise or give instructions about the relationship, if they were right, the case is not relevant, and there would be no clear benefit from them, but the results of conceit and youthful idealism, mixed with a faint, overcast optimism such as "I can" or "everything will work". But nothing sensible, real, sensible did not emerge from invented on the go or logically correct explanations.

So, he decided, he had to go and ask for forgiveness when he felt right. It was a matter of the most usual, ordinary, slip - the garland twisted over the lintel and touched the chandelier in the living room, but as the plug did not reach the outlet from the wire, but the multiplier was not found, it was supposed to extend the wires, but they are short and it’s not clear what to do in peace without a quarrel. She said one option, and Alex sought his position and eventually had to leave for an hour or two, breathe, until the answer would have jumped out on its own, otherwise the celebration would have passed in the dark.

Chapter fourth. "Arriving in calm"

In the early morning, behind the sun-awakeness, in the sixth hour of day, Alex Ives came home, changed clothes, went to the bathroom, washed his hands, and pouring green tea from a coffee can into a faceted pale blue glass, thought almost out loud:
"After sunset, as the sun awakens, I still think that even the light is trying to shine in the darkness of the big gray clouds in the sky. Every day, from morning to night, I begin to think about the future, but desires close the exit when bad thoughts go nowhere. When it is hard for a person - in emotional and logical sense, theater and performances seem everywhere, characters take to an imaginary stage, they advise us with different tangled voices, and you need to find the strength to return to yourself, think and find the truth. Or does it seem so to me? That was strange moment in the life movement made me look better in far places, but still I stood still without steps for change. The lightning bolts in the sky are so long and so slow that I will never watch the scenery of my city at night. I'm tired of seeing strangers on the road at midnight, when I opened the window a bit to watch the sunset..."

Obviously, all thoughts were mixed - from those that were during the day, rare curls appeared, as if the clubs of fog had come off and evaporated, and the new ones slept, surprising and alarming, although these feelings were kind of the same thoughts, but he did not attach special importance to them. My head was spinning — or rather, a nervous state was present, after a long hike along a dark street, my hands ached in palms and wrists, but depression and desire to go to sleep overpowered the desire to go to the living room, take boxes of Christmas tree decorations and hang festive garlands all over the rooms. doors to the windows. But there were a full ten minutes left before Alex could see the magnificent British salute, which flew after volleys of gas and metal dust across the sky in different directions. He was preparing for a celebration, but his girlfriend was sleeping in her attic, not wanting to see anyone and anything, even contrary to the traditions of the new year. Christmas was better than the new year, and the guy himself knew this, but years earlier, after visiting the outskirts of Russia, he was ready to learn the latest recommendations. It is strange, and yet it could be so, no matter how much he wants.

Chapter fifth "Questions not for topics"

Like a bulldog, bored with nothing to do, Alex Ive looked out the misted window, saw the fireworks, understood above the roofs, soaring under the clouds, falling waves of spray somewhere far away, leaving a rare, pale tails, like the tails of comets, flying on seasonal nights.

He, confident in his alleged remorse, wanted only one thing - to explain to the friend the truth and try to make peace, so she also realized the error and went to meet him.

However, she slept and she has dreamed in dream about than something, or tried to flee from monsters, which often come in nightmares, when anyone did bad actions, - guy not knew this.

Sitting at the table, on a rare "Elizabeth Second`s chair", an amateur photographer flipped through the film on the camera, looking at the images of faces - himself and Veronica, made on Halloween eve, last year.

It's funny, but the feeling of serenity and happiness faded at every mention of Walter Berrow, when visiting the subway, when discussing presentations and thinking about him, if he (Walter) could be a capricious phantom, not giving the traveler to squeeze into the cave of free life.

And there, there and here, he followed his orders and advice, directing attention to the pictures he will still have to create and exercise for five hours in a dark studio, not sleeping and not EV nothing, except the salad of peppers, cheese and seaweed, coffee and sugar sticks for the conservation of energy in the moments of the night vigil.

In any place guy waited uncomplicated advertising "The search for photographer or stylist" or annoying booklets, glued to the walls or scattered on stone floors with themes of "Where seek or as order practitioner photo".

Processing oilcloth, magazine or any paper demanded a lot of diligence and exhausted nerves, if this nonsense continued for a long time, but Alex managed to realize an important idea: not to associate and not to ask for contact with someone who could torment light special.effects and flashes from the photo light bulb.

He was again tired, rubbing his eyes, thinking about the freedom from it all, but being afraid to remain without work, did not venture to come into conflict with a programmer who knew his weaknesses.

Even one mistake, and he would fly without money into the abyss of darkness, and all the works would go against him, because they had bad sources.

"Having woken up, having woken up, once, in the morning, in the tenth hour when other people with might and main worked, went in public transport, went a foot course on their affairs, sat in other houses, different offices, and did various circumstances of action, I realized that there were many thoughts in my head, and I realized that these are my thoughts, not someone`s else.
I learned that I am part of society, part of the ordinary society of people, and yet: I have to learn, I have to work, and to bring home to eat, too, it is necessary to clean up and create comfort, and in General, that only no count.
I noticed that my time was going somewhere at an incredible speed, but I didn't do anything so difficult, just thought about it, what worried me that day.
Still, it's like I'm bound and silent for no reason. I didn't care about other people, I didn't think much about myself in the last few weeks, and other things, it's not important for this moment, because there are duties that need to be performed.
Go and clean yourself up in the shortest amount of time, cook yourself and yourself a small sandwich of chicken pie and sunflower oil with cucumber, eat it, and drink tea with a tiny pinch of cinnamon. Otherwise we need to buy that and economically, and that tomorrow has enough of it. This is the meaning of my one-day life, with which I sometimes find it hard to live and unthinkable to die. You don't have to do anything for that..."

Catchy, bright, with the number of different colors of the marker you draw pictures for posters and presentations. Reading texts for speeches.
You use speech cultural expressions, stylistic and speech, logical and moral mistakes you correct. You edit the work of scientific professional literature as if the sculptor is a wooden solid dry product.
You're not going to read it at the morning meal, leafing through the news on the netbook, looking at the clouds that have stopped in the sky, and looking occasionally at the head of the VSP, with a gloomy look giving instructions, tasks, plans that need to be done in a shortened deadline.
"Why all this? For what? Is that what you wanted?" You ask yourself, leaving the building of your work, looking around, crossing the road on the Zebra, on the green light.
You understand that only you, only for yourself, only about you, and only for this all, you try from day to day, from early morning to late evening.
Others do more, faster, more spectacular, more efficient and more accurate, getting paid for it, or almost the same as you, it is much less than you. You don't deserve this. You are selfish!

And all because it happens, because every time you prove to yourself, "I can not!"and you continue to pretend that others benefit from it, and that you do not care about everything they have achieved for you and for themselves. Their children, their families - all want peace and work hard for this very much. You wouldn't understand. You don't understand, you don't know, you don't guess it, thinking, "I don't Think anybody's gonna take care of me when I'm gone..."

No one has to take care of you. You're grown! You are Alex Iies, the man, as crazy photographer, has earned the contempt and the very remorse. Obsessed with the wrong and inappropriate in normal society photographs taken by order for Walter Berrow.