Alex

Her long ash—blond hair was almost white, bleached by insomnia and a strange habit of washing her hair only with cold water.Alex's eyes are transparent. They are gray-blue, like water in a mountain river, with a thin dark border around the iris.The cheekbones are sharp, the mouth is well—defined, a little mocking, although Alex rarely laughs. When he smiles (and this happens once in a hundred years), dimples appear on his cheeks - so unexpected, so warm that it seems as if you saw the sun on a cloudy day. But it lasts for a second. Then it closes again.He has a tattoo on his left wrist. A thin silver band encircling his arm like a snake.

The right side is a new city:

The buildings are taller here and the streets are wider. But it's bright here too. The youth painted graffiti on transformer booths: dragons, stars, faces laughing and crying. The walls of the houses are covered with murals - artists from different countries come here to leave their mark. The city agrees. The city wants to be beautiful.

He smells like freedom. Not sweet and cloying, but spicy, like that coffee with pepper. You can be anyone here, and no one will be surprised.

Street musicians often pass by here. They play jazz, rock, violins, drums. The sounds mix and overlap, and the result is a symphony of the city.

You can't get bored in this city. Even if you really want to, he'll find a way to wake you up.

The river divides it in half, but not with a gray ribbon, but with a bright one like liquid glass. In the evenings, it reflects the lights of the embankment – ​​pink, turquoise, orange. They don't skimp on light here. Every bar, every store, every simple stall tries to outshout its neighbor with color: signs, garlands, neon tubes. The city shines like a Christmas tree all year round.

The left side is the Old Town:

Narrow streets that twist like snakes. The cobblestones glisten from the rain or from being hosed down by the cafe owners to make it beautiful and to reflect the lights. Everything is here for tourists, who don't come much, but they are there. They like this city: a little dangerous, a little fabulous.

· The Wanderer Cafe. On the corner of the square. It always smells of vanilla and cinnamon. The owner, a fat bald man named Mark, has a rule: he does not give the menu. He asks: "What do you want today?" —and he brings you what he thinks you need." They say he's never wrong. Alex only drinks black coffee there, and Mark always adds a pinch of red pepper. "You need something spicy," he says.
· Glassblower's workshop. Next to the fountain, where instead of water there are LEDs that simulate water. The glassblower, old Oleg, makes strange figures: crying eyes, flying hearts, hands catching the moon. Alex sometimes buys small things from him—puts them on a shelf and doesn't look at them. It's just that they are.
· The Secret courtyard. If you know where to turn between houses No. 14 and No. 15, you can get to a small courtyard that is not on the maps. An old willow tree grows there, wrapped in garlands that burn even during the day. Wish ribbons hang on the branches. Alex never made a wish. But he's coming there today. And tie the ribbon. Find me.

"The main thing is to fall beautifully. I can't do it yet, but I'm practicing."
Tangerines
Mulled wine
Carnation
Bright colors in the painting
Sunset
Stays up late and sleeps a long time

Humorous,
shy,
self-confident,
and most often introverted.
He likes to paint his portraits.
24 years old,
clumsy in places.
He dresses in what he feels comfortable with, he has his own style, according to his mood.
He likes to write poetry and music on a tape recorder.