“I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”*

Bright blue sky. The colour of a newborn baby's eyes. Bright sunshine. Almost too bright, the kind that requires sunglasses and results in far too many freckles.
Balcony. The wooden floor is chipped. A bit uneven, perhaps. But even enough for a crystal glass with happy bubbles swimming about in the clear liquid. It smells of freshly cut grass. The smell of grass tickles the nose.
People are at their best. They smile and whistle. They talk more. Their clothes fly off and suddenly they feel liberated as never before. There is a smell of adventure in the air. Adventure, and maybe some hope. Hope that life isn't all that dark and boring. Hope that adventure indeed is possible.
The cold water covers the pale body. It causes shivers and a few moments of feeling courageous.
Brightly coloured ice-cream carresses the tongue and the taste buds while loud music is blasting from somewhere. Loud music in a place that usually is deadly quiet.


*Jack Kerouac.