Page 331: Disposable

For a brief moment, nothing else matters. Except the rhythm, your recklessness and that free spirit. The temporary satisfaction that will only be some small part of his journey and some story on your journal.
A nice distraction.

Still, when he left you took a deep breath and whispered to yourself, "be sturdy. Remember, for nomads everything is disposable.."

But the second after you put the four-string instrument back to the corner, you smiled.
Since it was fine. A fine story. A short fine one.