Every morning my girlfriend gets up at six to make it to the factory on time. She steals away like a weasel and I never know if she kissed me on her way out. When I wake up, her pillow is already cold. It emanates a deadly coldness and I crawl away from the creepy silence into the kitchen, open the fridge and have my usual bottle of beer. Its cold, dull and dark contents spread over my insides like a comforting protective film and by the time I finish the bottle, my digestive mucus is securely detached from the foggy air of Ljubljana, allowing me to walk its streets without fear.