Prophetic Spirit

The window of the dark office is covered with curtains that do not let in the last rays of the sun. A tall figure in a dark raincoat is sitting at a wooden table. The man is silent, subtly sensing the presence of the guest. He could hear his breathing, hear his heart beating. He didn't need to see clearly to figure out who was standing in front of him. Several seconds of silence stretched like hours before the Prophetic Spirit was the first to break it with the words: — What's the matter? — He touched his blindfold with his fingers.

The window of the dark office is covered with curtains that do not let in the last rays of the sun. A tall figure in a dark raincoat is sitting at a wooden table. The man is silent, subtly sensing the presence of the guest. He could hear his breathing, hear his heart beating. He didn't need to see clearly to figure out who was standing in front of him. Several seconds of silence stretched like hours before the Prophetic Spirit was the first to break it with the words: — What's the matter? — He touched his blindfold with his fingers.