This boy I knew - Volodja - used to live around the corner. His house was just a few blocks away from mine; and more often than not, he'd be outside playing with a frisbee. Volodja loved that thing, perhaps he was obsessed with it and the quality that it could fly, if only momentarily. We happened to be friends for a brief period, and it was during the phase that we had lunch together one time - his girlfriend, him and I. We inhaled plenty of gum during the day, passed out on a deserted-factory floor and woke up feeling cold an hour or a couple later. Those were depressing times. I realize it only now that I look back upon it. Retrospection is not the only thing pushing me to admit, the prolonged nature and constant recurrence make me fully understand the somber nature of the situation. It of course is very convenient on my part to write about it secretly hoping for deliverance, for I even more stealthily despise the whole idea. The ambivalence isn’t even natural, it is the creation of an ever so petty thought hoping for a grandiose arrival – to whichever nook or cranny. To be perfectly clear, all of it makes no sense.
I listened intently whilst these words ushered from underneath the magnificent lips of Katya - “All good things to those who wait”.