There are two chairs in my balcony. Two of those bendable chairs on which you can lay back at midnight, in your underwear and with a cold beer in your hand, and stare at the sky.

They ain't for two. Just for one. One is a spare, or a relief. Just that there are always options.

I like to pretend that they are two space platforms. You can bend them back and aim the black sky above your head and count down to zero.

Fire.

One day I will shoot myself to the sky. To the dark space between the stars. In my underwear and with a cold beer in my hand. I will send messages back to earth, for the people to know how the outer space feels. And when I die, I will be a silent ambassador of earth.

Mystic heated wine.