Pack your stuff and run away, sweetheart. Journey through countries, bars, palaces, and trailers, but never stay anywhere longer than three months. Leave while no one is holding you and the ones who could stop you understand they shouldn’t do it. You’ve been complaining you had no time to do things: now let the life watch enviously you slipping by. Change chic clothes for torn jeans, and childish T-shirts – for lynx fur coats. Lose passports; think up new names and biographies. Wear big sunglasses and cover your head with a shawl for not being recognized by accident. Fond a job: today you are an accountant, tomorrow – a driver, and the day after tomorrow – a factory worker. Write a book about it and publish it. Don’t look on the calendar. When all colors of the world are mixed into one gray color, you will be back home and have to wash windows.

But you can stay home and not to go anywhere: just fall in love.