My world has four ends. I live at the first of them. Me and million other individuals in the old city built for individuals and their kinky lusts. Old enough to have respect, modern enough to be habitable for modern men and women. Genius loci everywhere.
The oldest daughter of mine lives at the second end of my world, in a city of fairs, lowcost workforce and motorbikes (but she could not ride any at the moment). Parts of her world formed into the second end of my world and I carry it with me wherever I go.
Both of my parents live together at the third end. In a nice village full of babbittry. In usual conditions of incredibly happy marriage, full of flowers, new ideas, alternative thinking, fun and … fun.
The fourth end of my world was without form and void for a long time. Now it is so far over horizon that I often forget how it looks like when I return to the first end. As you’ve probably noticed, my memory is not good, it’s far from it to be honest. But my endeavour to keep at least some pieces in mind for at least a few days is enormous and this fourth end becomes so close I can nearly feel how it looks like. I still can’t remember, but this end turned into the beginning of my new feelings …