I'm trying to find out who I am. someone presses the buttons and calls to eat now, but I need to think, run out of speed and image a little Muck. I'm an Uzbek boy, I can't find a conscience anymore. especially here in the city of three wheels. my close brother is Kitay-Gorod and today the bushes are free here. knee, knee, aaalll... I see my undulating sand. the other shore is near another sea, the shores here connect the seas. I was given a surfboard - my dad is such a dreamer, now we dry tortillas on it, and on holidays my mother allows me to water the Board from the kettle and roll down it, there are few holidays in Uzbekistan and my technique is not perfect - this became the main topic of my essay at school "how I spent the summer". far away in the sand there is a dream stone, orzu tosh in Uzbek. there's a fish scrawled on it. this stone was shown to my father by my grandfather, and to his grandfather by my grandfather, and to his grandfather by my grandfather. so I'm saving up for another surf trip, and when I get back, I'll have a son. let the sand be as salty as the waves.