BOOKER

A hot summer day. The scorching sun blinds any passerby on the street. Only a rare cool breeze refreshes the body, like a sip of water. The hum of passing cars turned into some unknown melody. A joint walk was more like torture. The heat from the asphalt refracted the light and burned his legs. But Fedya didn't care much. The melancholic mood threw up philosophical topics for discussion. Although this is more of a monologue than a dialogue.

In the flow of reasoning, you and the guy reached a concrete bridge that passed over the highway. Fyodor stopped at the fence, watching the cars passing by. A long road without end or edge. How many people pass by your eyes and what are their fates? Someone broke up with their other half. Someone had a son. And a little further, a hearse passes. Life in the area runs inexorably, and you want to cling to every happy moment so as not to miss anything. A quiet question, voiced more for yourself.

—Does life have a purpose?