Sun sun sun in my eyes

5 AM. The streets are decorated with leftovers from the night that's just passed: empty bottles, teens crying, beaten dogs breathing heavily (their foggy eyes awakes more sympathy within me than the banged and abandoned girls' striped cheeks).

This city shows no mercy, it doesn't apologize. It's like standing in front of a broken mirror and suddenly distinguish an equal broken grin on your own, tanned face.

I walk "home", buy painkillers at the drugstore, steal a bottle of liquor and some sweets. 

I've clearly stopped thinking.

But I don't mind.