"Are you writing about me?" asks Lukas, finally interrupting a staring-in-mute-mode lasting about ten minutes. "Sure." "Oh. I'm flattered! Seriously?" he's almost jumping on the little wooden chair. "No way." "Why not?" "Why should I?" "Am I not interested enough, for your standards?" "Yes, that's the reason." "What is that about, then? Aliens? Or maybe some stupid man you are dating with no hope, but observing his masculinity?" "Yes. Both." "I hate you, Abby." "I hate myself too, so we are in the same ship, Spider." Lukas likes to be nicknamed. We both stay quiet, he sipping his mango juice, me writing a sentence I will delete, just to find the balance again and stay in the writing dimension. It's really like standing on a single foot. You must reach a certain level of concentration, in order not to fell, or rely in the other foot. "
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