I used to breathe quarter-lungs. It was my diurnal routine, my casual state of living. Such consumption of the atmos was emblematic of dying beings confined to their sickbeds. But otherwise I was mimicking the society regulars, cooking myself dinner, gazing at shooting stars, summarizing today's deeds, making plans for tomorrow. Maybe I was to afraid to live, and the omnipotent unconscious of mine who controlled the soundtrack switched low-energy. My body got used to not getting enough oxygen. It got used to be prepared for death.
Today I woke up from a bad dream, lost and aghast. I glanced at my watch to come back to reality. The hour hand had just passed two. Angst had been dwelling under my ribs. It took away my youth, it ate my flesh. I closed my eyes and peered inside. My Angstzustand was albino.
I was once in a small and ancient town in Moravia. It was autumn; a glorious yet murky evening. Yellow leafs were scattered on the pavement. I walked among old gloomy Czechs.