We can say a lot about the man whose favourite moment was 6 a.m. You can mean so many clichés that have already been unfolded in everyone’s head. That man is tired. He’s tired every day. He wakes up at 6, and at 7 he goes back to school, and it’s not even about seeing the sunrise. For him, morning is as typical as the 4 o’clock sun is to us. He’s tired of explaining why he’s waking up at that hour. But for us, it makes an exception. “It’s simple,” he says, “everything is cleaner, clearer. Well, that’s more of a bonus. That’s how I got used to it.” With what he’s different from all of us, you can’t be precise. There are, however, some visible differences. For him, what’s real, what’s a dream and what’s memory has a fluid composition. There’s not much you can say about the lady who feeds the birds. She worked all his life at an industrial plant and raised two children who had been abroad for a few years. She surrounds herself with tabs and objects to half her age. She’s just another one of thousands of old ladies who feed animals in the streets. We don’t know what the mind of a man who feeds birds is, but we can admit that one way or another brings him joy. This lady doesn’t do it for joy. She feeds them on the grounds of not to let them starve, that they are not unwanted on this earth. The more she feeds the birds, the more she realizes she can’t give his entire pension on feeding them. The gentleman who learned to ride a bike at 39 can only say one thing. He learned to ride a bike to ride his son to school. We can also note that in recent years he has been absent from his life, but he recovers, so we better not mention anything. The young man at the funeral services can be said to be paradoxical. He worked six years of his early life as a child entertainer. “I find children strangely quiet, and the dead strangely agitated.” More jokingly, more seriously, he really feels that way. He’s raising money to go to college again. He hardly admits that sometimes when he sits in the coffin room, he reads to the dead. Many people say he says and does things just to shock. We don’t know if they’re right. You can tell people everything. And it’s been said since mankind could speak pretty much everything there was to say. So now they’re talking about microscopic things. Now they talk differently, every time. Now it’s rare to shut up. Now they talk about stories like realities. It digs so deep that you finally forget the purpose for which you came here. If you look at the world, no matter how narrow you are, you can say whatever you want about people. The question that stands is: “Why are you doing it?”. No one’s pretending they shouldn’t. About the people above, I said as much as I could or couldn’t. For example, “Did he help anyone?” “Was he a righteous person?“ I don’t know; I don’t know. Now not everyone likes the conclusions. Ironically, it seems good when one opens up several pieces of discussions about people. One day the people above met to talk about us. They’ll let us talk about themselves.