The work describes this period of life as a pool of motionless stagnant water. I wake up to the same alarm clock at a fixed time every day, eat almost the same breakfast, and walk the same way. The clouds outside the window seem to be too lazy to change their shapes, and the boundaries between yesterday and today are blurred in the copy and pasting of days. The occasional waves are just the dripping sound of the faucet that is not tightened, or the old news repeatedly played on the TV. Time is stretched into a monotonous straight line here, with no ups and downs, no expectations, and even boredom itself seems so natural that it is almost unnoticeable.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
