Everything is futile and a striving for castles in the air. All things are wearisome. What profit does a man have in all of his hard work under the sun? Everything is empty! (Ecclesiastes )

I am buried on the street under old cardboard boxes, lumps of stone, branches and fallen autumn leaves. I am dressed like a beggar, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Vinegar concentrate gives me the smell of decay. The world has totally abandoned me.