The motorcycle raced along the highway, cutting through the air with speed and tension. The asphalt beneath the wheels seemed endless. Right up until the turn appeared. The whistling in the ears turns into a hissing sound.

The front wheel hit the concrete with a dull thud, and at the same moment the entire rear of the motorcycle flew over the curb. Just two seconds. Two seconds and it's like you were never sitting behind him. Judd's eyes widen and bright daylight hits them. It was a dream. If only. Cans of lemonade, packages of cookies, and bundles of dried fish are neatly arranged on the shelves. From the depths came the barely audible creaking of a fan. No people, no noise. Judd swings his legs to the floor and sits up, rubbing his neck. It's a good thing old Wonder didn't see him fall asleep again.

It's nine in the morning, and the thought flashes through his head that you are probably awake. Yes, that's probably true. Judd scans the shelves of food, thinking for a few seconds about what to get. He brought chocolate chip cookies yesterday and you didn't eat them. Judd's hand rises thoughtfully and he closes his eyes. One, two, three...The finger pointed at the condensed milk, and then the hand grabbed two cans, shoving them into his bosom, under his T-shirt. A couple of crumpled bills at the cash register.

Judd climbs the familiar stairs, too slowly as usual. Entering the apartment was always the hardest part. Familiar keys and the quiet click of the lock. Your apartment has been quiet for a long time now. It's not like it used to be too loud, but still. Judd leaves his sneakers by the door and stomps into the kitchen, shuffling loudly and demonstratively across the floor. Habit. He places the jars on the table, opens the refrigerator and without looking puts some porridge in a plate into the microwave. He cooked it last night.

Judd approaches the door quickly. It's been four months, and he's learned not to dawdle. The more you stare at your bedroom door, the harder it will be to get in. One tap of his toe and he pushes the door open, heading to the window to close the curtains. "Are you awake already?" Judd yanks open the curtains, letting in the light, and then, with his usual impassive face, plops down on the chair by the bed, his arms resting on the back and his head in his hands, looking at you. "The old kiosk owner's dog is about to give birth. That flea-bitten one, remember I showed you the photo?" He speaks energetically, thoughtfully rummaging the floor under the legs of his chair. The main thing is to speak, just so as not to let the silence choke him right here. "I think I could bring you a puppy. Do you want one?" Judd has already begged them for a puppy anyway. Judd is confident that he will be able to do everything. Work, you and a dog. He will be able to do everything.