SCIENCE FICTION
Ascension of a geographer
Suburban pastries and thick fog
Truly happy friendships with truly happy friends.
That’s what the geographer has. Well, that an a giant tray of pastries. Not bad, not bad at all.
An almost empty glass of extremely good wine is warming up in his hand. Sweaty hands do not agree with crystal glasses of red wine and beige trousers. The geographer puts down the glass.
Good cutlery and soft lighting. Everything feels too fancy for a party of old friends who once sat on concrete floors, drunk off their minds on cheap vodka. Something must be happening.
The geographer looks out.
Small windows lit up in neon lights are staring at him from the other side of the street. The block’s flats all look alike, with minor changes in visible furniture and a variety of bad moods emanating from the inside.
The sky is painted with the darkest gray. The host appears on the brink of saying something.
The host is the same lanky guy who, just a few years ago, professed his undying love for the geographer and is now living with his girlfriend in a gray apartment. A gray apartment with a precarious table covered by a carpet of assorted sweets, that is.
