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Taras Prokhasko, who has been promising us to write a novel for a long time, has not written it again. Instead, he wrote a series of shorts or, perhaps, essays in his unmistakable style. About what? About the same thing: about the future that was long ago, and about everything that already exists, but we don't know how long it will be. In particular, about such simple things as balconies and curtains, light and stones, swings and toilets, walking through the city and shooting a film in the Carpathians, the formula for happiness and the factor of influence, babington and selbsferstendlich, etc. And also about sleeping attentively, having breakfast in your own way, and watching with your eyes on the prize. Yes, but this is not the main thing here. The main thing here is the type of narrative in which reflections become elements of the plot and are revealed not as written after the fact, but as spoken at the moment of birth. That's why these are neither shkits nor essays, but narratives in the strictest sense of the word.