Another moment when death was so close. An explosion. Fire. People gather on the street. It’s unclear whether it’s this building or the one next door that’s burning.
Cars are on fire.
I often parked nearby, but yesterday there was no free spot, so I parked my car a bit farther away.
By a miracle, my car survived. For over a year, I’ve been heavily using it for army service, driving thousands of kilometers. The trunk lid was open—the force of the explosion had flung up the mechanical, not electric, lock.
I moved the car farther away; it wasn’t in the way, but at night I couldn’t yet assess the scale of the fire—maybe more emergency vehicles would arrive. I grabbed first-aid kits and returned. There were already plenty of police and ambulances on the scene.
In such moments, you feel too weak and vulnerable. What exactly can I do? How can I help?
I’ll just keep doing my work, both in the military and other areas. Inspiration—a geopolitical impulse for revenge. Routine but necessary work, my small contribution, may not be the best medicine for my emotional state. But writing texts is decent therapy. Misfortune is like a hunger that can be satisfied.
Once, as if in another world, I traveled with one girl, and cats constantly accompanied us in various places.
This morning, I saw a dead black cat near the entrance. Like a breath of death that came very, very close. But today—not for me... So, not today...