"The relevance is as follows..." - what can it be? Is this an abstract? Is it report? Is it coursework? About what? About the life of a simple student living in the outback, furnished like "rural prestige"? So so idea.
But I know for sure, no matter how hard the author tried, no follower, copywriter, or repeater could understand the meaning of what the author himself had in mind.
You can create rubbish, be proud of it, and say everywhere: "Okay, friends, I have a hundred bucks for the white circle!" It is empty, nothing. You do not know what inspiration, work, abilities mean, and you feel sick from euphoria because you do not know the meaning of life.
Hours, just numbers, but at the very last hour you will remember your senseless and absurdly hopeless steps to pseudo fame. A photo may become discolored, a lot will be forgotten, and what you have done in life will not be needed by anyone, unless you, on tips, in moments of exhaustion and self-pity ...
Not at all the boring abstract state remained with the detective, who read the notification from his client, polished to the minimum brilliance, but the feeling was that the one who had previously stood in front of him and a lawyer, who had a battered jacket in his hand, had a cap on his side and turned the visor back with Emblem "Hard Baseball," the one who almost stuttered at every question related to the case of Walter Berrow and businessman Avust Goodyear, now reported on his adventures with a little obvious smile and no pressure.
Chapter seventeenth.
"It’s my opinion that you’re deciding. I guess I'm still small. Otherwise, if you don’t want to know what to say, "If you don’t want to, do it yourself ..." If you want to find out what kind of a car you want to go for I know that there can be auto-manned automobiles, but this is not that. Who is that? I see a gray the car at night. Again. Buttressed on the bottom of the window. I’m not so important because I’m not so hot. I’ve lost my life and I’m not sure about it..." - the email-post was visit to the email-box of Jack Waiton, at the Eighteenth of May, in the end of morning.
"I don't know. But I usually feel like I’m not always happy, but I’ve never heard any of Alex Ives’s friends before his departure to Mexico, neither after nor during it". - Jack Waiton, as a true detective, silently began to search for information about the actions of spells and the response to protection when photographing.
“Is there something new, must there be magic?” - he asked every minute, fumbling in the Internet, looking for similar cases in reference books and on random websites.
Everywhere is not what is needed, however, help was needed by his friend, because the look he looked at the policeman’s face at parting was double: now sad, then mocking, as if from pleasure.
"This is similar to demonic tricks, but is it possible in the twenty-first century, and in the middle of two thousand and thirtieth year, to believe in any nonsense like magic? Absurdity. We need to find out more about this..." mailing address on secure and trusted sites, making bookmarks, sorting out trash from secondary and tracking cloud files.
Why does he need it? No matter what happens to anyone, never more than this year, when he relied on the seasons and planned an attack on the mirror demons. Perhaps this could appear familiar Augustus Goodyear and Walter Berrow, frightening people detached from business and obsessed with ideas.
It happened that a network suddenly broke out without touching the wire on a computer, the provider replied: “It's all right!”, And the connection with external resources never returned after three hours, as if bewitched.
Сhapter eighteenth.
From Waiton's thoughts: “Thinking about everything, watching places, dreaming about something and everything, I often believe in myself. But something less important, something unknown, it makes big edges on my life path, blocks desires, solutions and opportunities without my consent".
- Why do I dream, sleep and believe in a bright and clear future, if everything is so dark and hopeless? These are almost burned out candles around the photo display? Self-burnt ego? For what?
Strange silver matter sparkles from a small photo-spark and shows me who was around me, who committed useless and bad actions against humanity and against personal parts of society ... - Alex Ives's words, which are taken from the context of a letter received recently, this morning. Before Jack Waiton unlocked the touch panel of the smartphone and looked at the screen to check the network signal and check the exact time in accordance with the clock on the first floor of the headquarters.
"Very often, counting as a point of reference, you can take something completely different from what it really was. Many outside observers pretend that this is something that is not natural, does not concern them, as a result is the very thing that is their attention is needed to resolve the issue after the flash, created by someone and for something"... - theese were answers from philosophy and psychology, flavored with ideas from the law.
Alfred Berrow was upset about this: everything was at the same time so clear, understandable, simple that, on the one hand, did not suggest any solution on the issue, but on the other hand, it affected all the participants in the case in the worst possible way, and complicated the already complicated threads . Alex knew that his friends would rush to him, they would ask for help, give valuable advice, reassure him, but the selfish nature of the camera did not allow him to respond politely and insinuatingly. He was afraid to find the right words in order to protect any unknowing from more serious mistakes.
Chapter nineteenth.
I talked about the tragic melody. Mysteriously: when you meet with an almost incomprehensible person, and in the end you understand: this is Gregory Goodyear, and there, behind him, the others sit in the dark. You are scared, but the only thing that will save you, change the course, becomes different, it is a camera. That is what will be your helper between light and darkness. They offer you to create a photo, and you agree, filling yourself a great price for your work.
Once, walking in around, I heard an unknown sound that called someone, a cold cry for help. Strangers do not go there, it was anywhere... The stars were so restrained and strange, why I was so surprised by such darkness. At an unknown age, everything could be different, but it happened exactly as you did not want.
But, if Alex Ives had not gone to the company of the Goodyears and Berrows, life would not have become like a multi-colored chaos, but would be serene and satisfactory, as the photographer himself felt.
For what he did every day (studio photo-shoots, presentations of different angles and models, nightly gatherings and photo processing, running around the city outskirts in the evening, almost close to twilight and midnight, daily morning headaches and drinking coffee), everything He was tormented, and what he chose because of ignorance, he was paid five dollars for it. It is true, it could get more...
Envy, a sense of pretense, secrecy, gloating, sparks of indignation - however, the search for everything he had to endure, to feel, creating a different reality - real, but it seems to be tangible, as if it were here and now. What happened to Alex? What has he become? What is he doing now? How does it behave at this hour? Questions take an incomprehensible form, and it was necessary to solve them as quickly as possible, which was what detective Waiton was doing, reading books and asking specialists, plunging more and more into an unnecessary cloud of darkness, forgetting about other things, duties and dreams.