In the world of new rudes and yeppies (the revised version of 90s yuppies for the twenty-somethings living in the twenty first century) the common denominator seems to be a shell of a pistachio nut. The nut is still there- ready salted and dried yet the shell embodying the core of the issue – hard and stale, with an after taste of overdid saltiness that leaves an impression of easy-to-open yet impossible to digest outline of human beings struggling with their spirituality and desires to belong to groups, faces, fashions of today. The funny thing though, never really that funny, is that waking up in the morning and going to our jobs we hate, we adore and praise, jobs we diminish and idolize, are in the end of the day our context were virtues and vices we acquired through years of patience and slavery get magnified and demonised. What good comes of a drinking twenty something girl when she wakes up and has a bowl of strawberries for breakfast thinking maybe this is the day in such a context? This never ending anticipation of something grand and big and magnificent is what colours the lives of us, people of the above-world who seek to be patronised, seek to be liberated and all they real want from day to day is to be loved. Forget linear expressions of time, we live in the system of fragmented time capsule, we are the time capsule. Our children and grandchildren will dig out the stories we tried so hard to hide under a thick layer of yesterday. Sitting here in a room overcrowded with unnecessary belongings that make my well-being so real, so important, I must admit in silence that the music I listen to, the food I eat is all I care about at this particular moment. Massacres in Iraq, starvation in Niger, ceaseless attempts to diminish pain and selfishness all over the world are miniscule particles floating beyond my window. I could give a world away to hear the voice on the other end that says: hello, I have waited for you and you are here, finally. The line has been disconnected and the machine says: sorry, this phone number no longer exists. I finish my wine, light up another cigarette, cry with a cry of a heart, and go to sleep. Tomorrow I will do my best to crack another nut wide open. Please, promise me, you will try to do the same.