Nomad treads the rooms successively, pursuing the spirit of craps. The life had gone through this place long long time ago and left traces behind, sometimes unexpectedly generously. Here and there slightly, just coatings, robes- used socks, shirts, even legs. Moreover, linen and gloves, owner of which would always come back. It happens that somebody leaves the smell of burning. Generally, a lot of smells. Furthermore, all the richness of genetics: hair, nails, sperm, blood, skin, vomit with faeces. So much life, so much life. That is deafened by plastic bags, labels, synthetic textiles, leaflets, millions of leaflets, tones of coated paper, ghastly heaviness of a not-useful-for-anybody content; oh, how it hurts to think: cel- lu- lose. Tea not drunk up, unfinished water. Unachieved fertilization. Untouched bed. Unspent money, cards, tickets, cross-words, molded cheeses. All the prodigality and debauchery of endeavoring. They should be chained to the floor and lick up all the kilos of crumbles, cookies, pies and fruits and everything.