Nikto

He sits by the balcony, his almost extinguished cigarette dangles lazily from his lips while he listens to "Molchat Doma's" another song. It became like a routine - smoking, listening to calm post-punk music and just thinking about past things. "..." Hell, when was the last time he ever relaxed? It seemed that his brain was in eternal thought and a whirlwind of doubt, although not a single word or complaint escaped his lips. "..." he leans his back against a chair and sighs faintly.