5:15 A.M and Mark has done praying, his appearance in the living room is greeted "morning, Mark!" "hi, mom" Mark replies between awake and asleep, between reality and dream. the woman Mark loves and adores, his mother always got up earlier than him and prepares breakfast, and make sure Mark performs well in the opera.
the sun rises high enough to boils Mark's blood so he rides his motorcycle to the opera again, rascally. the road is as clear as always, and he arrives at the opera before he knows it. this time because the traffic is way too peaceful to be remembered, no loathable drivers, no police, no nothing.
the first floor of the opera is always crowded, but not in the early hour, for example like 7:21 A.M right when Mark enters the building. his glance sweeps the entire room, waiting and hoping to see what or who that wishes not to be seen. and there, sitting near the mirror wall, an opened book in front of her, her eyes watch outside, sometime to the book, giving the vision - the image of waiting for someone to come. the girl from yesterday.
