he streets hummed with the flow of their ordinary life. A sparse stream of cars passed along the roads, the bulk of which consisted of trucks.

The exhaust of cars in this windless weather did not have time to disperse through the air. People had to wipe their faces periodically to get rid of the soot.

The richer people avoided this problem by taking the streetcar. Others tortured their lungs and legs by walking along the nervous road.

In this city even pigeons no longer inhabit the parks and streets, they flew away ten years ago, and who knows where they went? Perhaps to the dangerous but clean forests. For birdwatchers whose lives are tied to the study and perhaps even love of birds, this is dramatic news. From the perspective of the rest of us humans and the city, it's undeniable joy; the flying rats have spontaneously flown away.

______________

A scattering of light fell through the apartment window, illuminating the dusty space. Dirty dishes, blackened walls with moss growing in the corners. The only clean space was a bookcase, almost to the top, filled with incarnations of other worlds or reflections of applied reality.

A few rays, breaking through the dark divots of the window, fell uncompromisingly on the man's eyelids.

For the fourth hour Liman has been in a state between dream and reality. His face lit up with carefree childish joy, then darkened with an incomprehensible universal sadness. But despite the frequent changes of expression, not a single sound escaped his lips.

With a sudden movement, Liman jumped up from the bed and immediately fell to the floor, hitting his head against the walls of the wooden bed.

(Such wailing, if she knew how to listen.)

Liman's half-open eyelids finally opened fully, the rays of sunlight hitting his eyes finally waking his consciousness.

- Damn, we'd have to hurry to get in line. - Almost instantly, the man oriented himself with his plans

Liman had thoughtfully changed into clean clothes last night, saving himself a lot of time. Dark t-shirt and blue jeans - the most common clothes in this city, clothes of other colors did not make sense to wear, expensive, quickly got dirty.

Quickly eating a piece of rye standing bread from the table, he hurried outside.

Fortunately, he didn't run into any of his neighbors. A meeting would have usually ruined the mood for both of them.

The street immediately greeted Liman with the smell of steel and rotten fish. Even though the market was five streets away, the smell of seafood still wafted this way.

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(13 Peace Street, I wonder if Peace Street would be above or below War Street.)

As he walked towards this street, Liman recalled an interesting observation he had heard from someone at work.

This street had the least amount of crime. A surprisingly impressive statistic and just as surprisingly encouraging to want to move there.

But there are no residences on this street, nor are there any manufacturing buildings. In this industrial city, it's nothing short of a sent down miracle, perhaps even by God.

(It is said that mankind created gods by looking at the objects around them. Has the god of steam and metal already been born, or has his divine body not yet been smelted? His material is clear. But what would be the fuel for his birth?)

As he thought about it, but kept walking, Liman crossed his eyes with a child trying to steal the wallet of a gentleman who was wearing a cylinder on his head.

- Shall we be the flame? - said Leeman, looking at the child.

The child stole the wallet from the gentleman and quickly slipped it with the dexterous movement of an experienced cheat into a hidden sleeve pocket.

Hearing Liman's words, he only looked at him perplexedly and skillfully disappeared into the stream of people.

On the way Liman ran into a couple of people running out from around the corner. He parted with them amicably by swearing at them.

Soon Peace Street appeared before him. The very buildings of unclear purpose were lined up in a row.

- House one, house two, an amazing order for this city," Lyman said to himself as he looked at the plaques and buildings.

Some houses had no windows, others had windows, but they were barred. If you listened closely, you could hear a quiet scraping sound.

It had no source, it seemed to come from everywhere. It didn't resemble a beastly hunger gnashing, more like the gnashing of a sufferer, similar to self-torture, less emotional, more insistent.

The gnashing didn't bother Liman much, the other sounds were louder and far more annoying.

Among the barred buildings, the house he wanted finally showed up, one of the differences being a sign above the entrance that read "Help Center".

The last Help Center had looked almost the same, only smaller by half.

Liman didn't look at the facade for long and entered the building almost immediately.

If he had taken more time to look around, he would have gotten an unsightly view from behind the bars. A blue butterfly embedded in the outline of his face peered out from behind the curtains of every floor, every window. With each flap of the butterfly's wings, the face blurred into space and reappeared.

He was greeted by a well-lighted reception area covered in light brown wallpaper. A row of wooden chairs lined up against the walls. At the end of the room stood the most ordinary reception desk, with cold iron doors on either side.

Behind the counter, littered with folders and sheets of documents, sits a well-groomed lady in office clothes with an embroidery of yellow flowers blooming pollen on her collar.

Liman might have approached her with a friendlier face had he been less concerned about his gaps.

- Hello, can I make an appointment? - Liman asked with a sour expression on his face.

- Hello, of course! You're on the third floor in the first office, the appointment is on a first-come, first-served basis. "Stairs to my left," the girl said with a smile, taking her eyes off the document in her hands.

Without further ado, Liman headed for the stairs, immersed in a new reflection on when the expression "live line" came into use.

Behind his back, the girl's smile quickly disappeared, replaced by indifference. Her eyes watched him until he disappeared, entering the stairwell.

The third floor greeted him with the same emptiness and light brown wallpaper. Only a few details had changed: instead of chairs against the wall, there were doors in the walls.

(Oak doors? Kind of expensive for a free psychological help center.)

To Liman's surprise and joy, the floor was empty. Approaching the first door of the floor, he knocked and, without waiting for an answer, went inside