Atrocity

by Christos Polydorou

I love the middle of the night. Everyone is sleeping. The city is, too. You can barely hear a car. Or a bird, for that matter.
You discover the beauty of the night in your adolescence. You hear what you cannot typically hear because of all the whining and expectations.
What comes through in the middle of the night is something peaceful.
People are inherently good. If you call someone by mistake most of the times whoever it is will be polite.
We drove each other crazy. Will this be the only story of what we were doing when we were together? It cannot be the only end.

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