Nothing interesting happens in our town. It's a quite, peaceful, flat town. Only a couple of days ago there was a motorbike race. Hundreds of shiny, glamorous motorcycles speeded through the main road. Due to this race, due to closed main road, duct taped, all other vehicles had to go through byroads. I live in a house in the first possible side road, right up next to the main road. Cars, trucks, whatsoever, they all crossing our street. It felt like a highway. It felt like a highway by my window. This touchable noise, it was like a highway to me.

Every day I tiptoe, nails on my feet painted with fading red colour when closing the window, watching impartially morning gloom.
Today I went home in the middle of school time partly because of unbearable cramps and maybe I was just sick from that friends' chatting about prom hairstyles in free lesson. All I can remember was me unintelligibly murmuring a name of a painkiller, my friend dragging me out of class and curling up on cold dirt floor. All I remember is my dad saying jokes when I almost vomited across the backseat. Deep intake of breathe and I thought of Crash.
Sometimes in the bus I look at those people and think: They are just like papier-mâché figures, hollow inside and their surface painted in glow rainbowy colour, so vivid and so sharp. I imagine the paint on faces ebbing away and I can see wrecking of thin paper which are papier-mâché figures made from. When you do not like things around you, you can change them.
Every day I open window before I go to sleep and want to yell loudly into the dusty air NEW LOVE GROWS ON TREES!
And when there's nothing else to change -, you just change yourself.