Sometimes the tiredness grabs me hard from behind, slings its arms around my neck and leaves me breathless, standing alone. The world gets blurry then and the colors seem to fade away quickly, the letters crumble away. The world is hidden behind a heavy curtain, all sound swallowed up by velvet carpets,no steps are to be heard anymore and no one is left, but the weariness alone. The tiredness is an old guest, knows how to make herself comfortable, puts the legs on the desk immediately and loughs roughly. An old companion never change its habits, but holds my fingers till they are cold and numb, losing keys and stumbling around as only drunkards do.  The world, which must still exist beyond that massive curtain, seems to be far away, in this world, people look good and yawn out of pleasure, sitting on tables with white linen, ordering fish and drinking wine. Well dressed are the people, wearing Ray Ban glasses, laughing out loud, discussing the choice for the dessert and the neighbor’s failing of buying a yacht. But I can only hear them mumble beyond the glass wall of fatigué, which comes closer and closer, pushes me till I will fall, looking curiously at me if I will ever get up or just remain on the floor, counting carefully if 41 hours in the same pair of shoes might be enough to succeed.

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