“I'm afraid of leaving this world as if I never came, of being forgotten, of never existing. What is remembered lives on. “I want to leave a mark and be remembered.” “There are photographs, aren't they enough to be remembered?” “Photos are kept for a maximum of three generations. Then they become garbage and go away. I don't have children, who will take care of them? Besides, we are now in the digital age. I don't even think he'll stay that long. Maybe I'll write. "I'll name it those who can't hold on." He looks at my face, as if testing whether I understand or not. “It was written a long time ago but... I haven't read it but I know it. "It's a famous book." I say. "I read. Is there only one story of those who couldn't hold on well? "And I'll write mine." says. “They won't read it then,” I say. He shrugs. “They shouldn't read it.” He stays silent for a while, drinks his tea and cigarettes; “Don't they really read? Then I really die. Then, can I write 'Those Who Cannot Be Sheltered'? Since I don't want to bother him, I give him the answer he wants. However, I know that it will not be read, that it will not be found creative and that it will be considered shallow. “Of course, why not? "Once a person does it, everything happens."

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