Section 01. "Petrified"
 

Things are somewhat set in stone. Walking on footpaths. To sleep at night and wake up in the morning. To eat breakfast in the morning. That you have to smoke in the smoking area and that people must not see you when you do bad deeds.

It is not only between people, but also in personal preferences.
In my case, not to use a straw. Breakfast must be eaten after noon. Put cigarettes in the inside pocket of my jacket. Only buy soft packet cigarettes.
These may seem trivial and unimportant to other people, but they are important to protect the inside of your mind and interoception.
One night, we walked along the river together, crossed the stone steps over the river, took a short walk, hugged and parted for the day.
On the way home, I took a cigarette out of my pocket and found it folded awkwardly, like the hunchback I so often see in the mirror.
Still, when I lit it and puffed the smoke, it was still functional enough as a cigarette to pass a somewhat boring time by the slightly chilly riverside. As usual, when I smoked it down to the root, it turned to ash, crumbled and fell, and the folded figure disappeared without a trace, but the melancholy that remained firmly in my body bent my shadow made of the morning sun. The troublesome rule has preserved something important again.
Not to separate life from death like a carbonised organic substance, not to imprison the emotions, intellect and reason, which are always moving inwards and outwards, in the gaze, but to keep them always a part of myself and nature.
The collection in the first chapter is a rede of substance and essence, of keeping each other in shape.

Not to leave the reminiscences that one wants to keep in a petrified way in a corner of emptiness.