On the sixth day of the ninth month, Nada was sitting in her armchair, looking at seventy eight calendars. Suddenly, like an opaque thought, she felt the urge to mark September the seventh on each one. On the ones with painted flowers, she rounded it with ballpoint pen. Three piece ones used plastic rectangular for highlighting the date. Digital one indicated chosen day with the blinking digit on its display. Her mind was wallowing in the fine mist which didn’t want to raise. Everything, so far, was just the illusion of life, anyway. Soon the midnight will pass and the hands on the clock will overlap. The last thing Nada saw was number seven finally stoped blinking on the screen.