They had just left the National Theatre. He wore a wrinkle-free suit, and she, freshly implanted wrinkle-free silicone. They’d watched a play about home appliances, performed by a renowned regional ensemble.

“I really liked the play,” she sighed. “Now everything finally makes sense.”
“Yeah. We’ll buy that fridge from the second act.”
“And when he came out of it… I got goosebumps all over!”
“I saw that. There’ll be more great shows. The new people at the theatre are killing it.”

On their way to the Russian Tsar, they stumbled upon an exhibition of coffee machines. She wanted to go in, but the crowd was too big. He was getting impatient, starting to complain. They turned into Čika Ljubina Street and headed toward the fountain. Under the arch of the Filos Hotel, next to a black marble pillar, a man was roasting chestnuts over a fire. The smell spread through the damp air.

“Hey, let’s grab some, smells awesome!” she tugged his sleeve.

The man was turning the chestnuts tirelessly, as if in a hurry. He wore fingerless gloves. He looked up as the couple approached.

“Good evening.”
“Give us thirty worth,” she said.
“Will you eat them now or should I pack them?”
“Now, of course! We do everything right now!” she burst into laughter.

The man made paper cones and poured the chestnuts into them.

“So, you do this for… exsistension?”
“It’s pronounced existence.”
“How do you even know that?! Who the hell are you?”

The man handed them the cones and their eyes met for a moment. As the couple walked away, he doused the embers with sand from a plastic bottle and packed his things into a bag. He stopped by the monument in His honor and looked up at the third window on the right above the arch. A familiar room. His eyes blurred quickly. He crossed Suez Square, passed the Ethnographic Museum, and walked downhill. He moved carefully—the smooth soles of his shoes slipped on the cobblestones. At the next corner, two uniforms stopped him.

“What’s in the bag?”
“Chestnuts and paper.”
“What kind of paper? Some writings?”
“No, just wrapping paper.”
“Search him, mate.”
“I have nothing. Just matches,” he said, raising his hands.

The second uniform frisked him, searching for any trace of written words. Finally, they let him go. He walked on, fixing his turned-out pockets. The wind brought the smell of grilled meat. And a sharp pain in his stomach.

He reached the overpass. People still used it, even though trains hadn’t run for years. The tracks remained. There were a few buildings on the other side, but he turned and followed the unlit rail instead. He counted his steps. Bent down and pulled out a small book from under one of the sleepers. He kissed it and slipped it into his pocket. The abandoned station wasn’t far now.

Inside one of the rooms with broken windows, there was a blanket, an oil lamp, and a rabbit.

“Hello, Marcus,” the man said to the rabbit.

The rabbit’s nose trembled. It came closer to the hand holding chestnuts. They ate together. The man lit the lamp and took out the book.

“Let’s see what your namesake tells himself this time. Listening?”

The rabbit raised its ears and froze.

“Do not let your soul become the slave of someone else’s ignorance, opinion, or what happens outside of you.”

The man read aloud, and the rabbit sat still, listening. The moon had crossed half the sky. When the lamp went silent, he wrapped himself in the blanket and curled up to sleep.

The rabbit went down to the tracks. It listened. Followed the trace. Waited for a sign.

It headed toward the fortress, where the zoo used to be. From the direction of War Island came more animals. There were more and more of them. Since the rivers had dried up, they could cross to any shore.

On the meadow where lions once lived, thousands had gathered—cats, dogs, squirrels, raccoons, owls, weasels… The murmur grew louder until it turned into a steady hum. Under the moonlight, it looked as if the earth itself was boiling. Then—silence.

Marcus jumped onto the wall, looked around, straightened up, and shouted:

“If something is just, do not be afraid to do it. If you die doing justice, let that be the end you deserve!”

The air was pierced by the sound of a locomotive rushing toward the city.