3 am. Friday night. The cars are running on the highway. I am sleeping in the back of the car, but still I can hear the cars passing ours, even if we were driving with the maximum limit. It is almost 5 when we park the car and head to the beach, where already many people are gathered for the sunrise.


10 am. It was a Wednesday or maybe a Thursday. One of the hard days. No breakfast, already with the heart broken, searching for a place to eat. Buying fast food, playing with kids, asking you to take them a picture.


22 pm. Saturday evening. We took a van to the so known Vama Veche – the place where hipsters, rockers and bohemians are united into partying. The place where you can listen Sepultura at maximum, or where you can sense the weed in the air, even if it is illegal. Where a father smokes a joint with his son. Where people are making campfire in the middle of the night, dancing on the beach, like no one is watching.