"Who is this 'Banderlog'?"

"My old classmate, he's a quiet guy. I mean, was. About five years ago he left for Europe with his trombone. Played it on the streets, slept wherever, namidized from France to Italy, then stopped in Spain. Started to write music for local bands. When a few of his compositions took top ranks, Kesha stopped working under someone and created his own studio. Now he plays his trombone only when he wants, or to earn more money when needed. As long as I remember, he was one of those friends who never lends you money, but gives advice on how to earn it. Of course, if you pay him for that."

"I see that you don't like him very much."

"I respect him like a businessman and a professional of his area. The funniest thing is that he arrived here to visit his mother, I think she is the only person in the world who he loves and cares about. And imagine, he organized this performance only to compensate his expenses on the trip. The great Banderlog returned to his homeland! And he turned out to be 100% right. In three days, there are no more tickets left. Around two thousand."

"And how much will you get?"

"Are you joking? Kesha won't share a bite of his food even with a poor grandma! After talking with him, I understood that we have to owe him our lives for letting us perform. This is such an amazing advertisement for us, a mediocre band!"

"What does Ian think about it?"

"Ian is following him like a servant after a king. Found out that Kesha is weak to flattery, so now he's trying to gain his trust. A good decision, actually, Banderlog has a lot of good connections."

Lewis is sitting on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly juggling my pass for today's concert between his hands, with us performing the opening song for it. This is the chance about which Ian has been talking about for the last few days, and this is exactly why we returned from our tour. Everything seems to be going smoothly, but...

"Lewis I can see that something is bothering you. Want to share?"

"I have a small worry. I was in a heated argument with Ian about about his song choice."

"What did he pick?"

"The song that we did in Valhalla. The one in ancient scandinavian. "

"Is it that bad?"

"Only if. Ian is right in that after that song nobody will even remember about Banderlog, it's really a masterpiece, won't leave anybody unimpressed. But there's a problem. Before leaving, we promised Willy that this song will never be performed outside Valhalla."

"Then... we need to choose something else. We shouldn't break a promise." I say with agitation.

"That's pretty much what I told him. Ian said that he will introduce it as a cover for an ethnic scandinavian music, and that the discussion is over. Found a student who is obsessed over scandinavian language and is now working with him. 'We'll make it more dynamic.'" Lewis makes fun of Ian's mentor-like tone.

"This isn't right." I sigh. "Ian is wrong here."

"He doesn't care."

"And the rest?"

"Same thing."

"And what are you going to do?"

"What can I do?"

"I mean..."

"Yes, we will perform the song from Valhalla today."

Lewis stands up and stretches. He has to leave now, but I want him to stay and chat with me. Maybe I can offer him tea?

"Lewis, how about some tea? With raspberry jam?"

"Thanks, I'm not against it. But not now."

"Leaving already? And I didn't even ask how the concert went in Valhalla. Why is nobody telling me anything?"

Lewis scratches his temple.

"Well, everything was weird. I remember one thing, Max remembers a completely different thing. Akela looked completely stoned that day. Ian hasn't said a word about it. Let's discuss it later... tomorrow maybe, with tea?"

"Alright, tomorrow it is. Should we meet in the evening?"

"Where would I go from this submarine? Wish us luck!"

He says that when already halfway through the door. He kisses me on the forehead and runs down the stairs, not waiting for the elevator. A cold breeze blows from the stairs, and I'm standing barefoot, but I only close the door after a minute when Lewis' footsteps can no longer be heard. I feel lonely and worried...

Lewis appeared, excited me with a VIP pass, and immediately spoiled the good mood. And I already started trying to be more positive after talking with Ian who, unlike Lewis, was constantly out of breath from being so enthusiastic about future plans. But even Lewis agreed that our meeting with the famous Kesha Banderlog is really lucky, and we need to seize the opportunity, as he only came into town for a few days.

In addition, I didn't get enough sleep. I didn't have breakfast either.

I go into the kitchen, the only sound coming from the smacking of bare feet against the floor. Toby is sleeping, Helen isn't showing her face - a rare moment of peace and happiness. I glance into the fridge and find a fresh batch of ingredients inside. The freezer is filled with semi-finished food. Let's see, what do we have here? Dumplings, pies, everything is so delicious! I'll start with some pancake rolls.

I turn on the stove and throw five frozen dough cylinders on the pan, which I cover with a lid and wait. I notice the dirty pot in the sink, it seems that Helen didn't even touch it, even though the other dishes are sparkling on the drying rack. For a second I feel guilty about yesterday's outburst, the pot looks expensive and probably has heat-resistant handles. Toby always buys kitchen tools of the highest quality. And to think I imagined myself as a Valkyrie yesterday. It's quite sad... and shameful. A real Valkyrie wouldn't even have batted an eyelid in Helen's direction, as she is not worthy of godly attention, but I still worry about the unpleasant conversation. Well, at least I have an excuse of having high temperature yesterday.

And what do I do now? Wash the pot? Apologize?

First of all I'll finish eating.

I move the still sizzling pancakes onto a plate and go towards my room, barely resisting the temptation to shove the whole first piece in my mouth. I put the plate on the bed, then climb under the covers. I wrap the roll in a tissue and carefully bite it, being fully absorbed into the taste of juicy meat and rice filling. The second one is also delicious, potatoes and mushrooms are a great combination. But the third pancake disappoints me, and I put it away after a single bite - Apples and honey, eww... For me, honey is associated with sickness and cough syrup. And also dreams. My mom said that if you see yourself naked in a dream, that is an omen for sickness and trouble, and she's right; I always have... stop! Didn't I dream of that just yesterday? The grey void, embarrassment from being fully nude, and a conversation with... Colin? If only I could remember what it was about... Normally I remember my dreams pretty well if I replay them in my mind, but the argument with Helen knocked all of the details from my head. Anyways, that is not important. But what will I put on for the concert, is.

Alright, one more roll and I'll start getting ready. Another one with potatoes, excellent.

A breakfast in bed during an autumn morning, not much can be better than this. Although...

I look at a clock on the wall and my eyes widen - it's already three in the afternoon, and I haven't even taken a shower yet. In order to speed up the process of picking out an outfit, I pour out the contents of my bags onto the floor and freeze in place.

Half of the pile needs to be washed, and the other half needs to be ironed, and the worst thing is that there's practically nothing to wear. Nothing blends well with my only normal pair of shoes. I'll have to run to the nearest market, especially since I have the money. Money that remained after the concert in Valhalla, and which my mother sent me. Meanwhile I can put on something that is more or less acceptable - a white turtleneck and black leather pants. Just in case, I put my pass around my neck and under the sweater. It would be a pity if I forgot it after putting so much work into getting ready.

I bite the last pancake roll and - Ouch! Shit! No, not literally, but also very literally... A flash of pain burns my upper molar and I immediately spit a half-chewed chunk onto the plate. Through the mixture of dough and meat I can see a white chunk of what I assume to be a bone. I feel the tooth with my tongue and another solid piece ends up in my mouth, but this time it's a shard of my own tooth, cracked upon contact with the bone. "Damn you, Toby!" I say through clenched teeth, continuing to examine the molar. If this pancake would have been served to a customer in his restaurant, Toby would have been in deep trouble. How can you cook like that? Or does he make his own food from the leftover meat?

The cracked piece is small, but still feels very unpleasant. I was always proud of my teeth and the fact that I only visited dentists when I was a kid losing my baby teeth. But now, because of some stupid pancake, this is too much! What a breakfast! My wallet flies into the purse, I put on the first pair of socks I found, pull on my boots and resentfully storm out, gloating about how loudly the door shut.

I know for a fact that for many people, doing shopping is very enjoyable, which turns into a passionate hunt during sale seasons, but unfortunately I don't fall into that category of people. For an article of clothing to end up in my wardrobe, it needs to have a few conditions:

1- It has to be unique and interesting, but at the same time practical.

2- It has to sit comfortably, ideally highlighting the good qualities of my non-model figure, while at the same time covering the bad qualities.

3- It has to be made out of a quality material, and preferably natural.

4- The most important condition- The price should be low enough so it doesn't make me question the justice in humanity!

And so it leads to me wandering around the market like a treasure hunter, my mood worsening by the second, and the aching tooth adds to it, as if on purpose. After two hours of digging through the world of rags, I come upon a small booth that pleases me - the choice is not too diverse, but the clothes appear as if they had been tailored just for my liking. With high spirits, I sort through the hangers. Since I'll have to sit in the VIP lounge, I can allow myself to wear this transforming skirt, which you can change the height of the cut of, using a zipper and a series of buttons. Plus an asymmetrical top to go with it. And these capri pants.

As usual, I get a whole pile of clothes and head to the changing stall. There are two more girls in the queue in front of me. One of them, a chubby teen with nose and lip piercings, judgingly looks at the pile in my hands and affirmatively puffs.

"Cool choice." She comments. "For a party?"

"Not quite." I respond. "I'm going to a concert. Where is-" I moan and grab my cheek. A wave of pain spreads through my upper jaw to such extent that tears start to form in my eyes.

"What is wrong?" The girl is visibly worried. "Do you feel sick? A heart attack?"

"Tooooothh." I groan. "Hurts..."

"Anyone have painkillers around here? She needs help!" She shouts while I slide down a wall, pressing on my cheek with full strength.Darkness crawls up to my eyes, the world shrinks down to the hot and twitching chunk of my jaw, and the only thing I see is a palm with some pills on it, which I throw in my mouth without a second thought.

"You need a doctor!" A few people gathered around me, their voices sounding distant. "She should just pull it out instead of suffering. There's a small clinic on the first floor. I'll take her there." Somebody pulls me up. "Can you walk? Or is your head spinning?"

"I can. Go." I mumble.

The pills aren't helping. It is as if my tooth is getting heated up with a blowtorch from the inside, and I am scared to even move my tongue, hoping that I don't accidently touch the ball of pain. I relax my jaw, feeling like I look mentally absent. Elevator, corridor, white walls, the smell of medicine. A woman with droopy cheeks and big glasses, which make her eyes look tiny, bends down above me.

"Okay, open your mouth." She loudly commands and puts on a surgical mask. "Where does it hurt?"

"Eeeere" I am almost hysterical, pointing at my cheek. The light from a lamp hits my eyes uncomfortably, and the doctor examines my mouth, occasionally hitting other teeth with a mirror at the end of a long metallic rod.

"Here?"

I moan with a rejecting tone.

"Here?"

"Oo"

"And here?"

"AAAAAA!" An explosion of pain covers my upper jaw once again. I push away the doctor's hand with such force, that the mirror flies into the lamp. Hugging my face, I crawl down the chair but the woman stops me.

"Shhh, it's alright now, dear, I understand." She assures me with a calming tone."Right now, I will inject you with an anaesthetic. Do you have any medical allergies?"

"Nooo..." I am still crying uncontrollably. "Dooo it..."

I open my mouth again and shake in fear, grasping the chair as hard as I can. But I almost don't feel the sting, it's like a mosquito bite in the middle of being burned alive. But a few seconds pass and the pain starts to fade away, replaced with a numb feeling. But as soon as the doctor touches my molar again, the agony comes back, and even though it's much weaker, it is still unbearable.

"More!" I plead.

"A double dose?" The woman's brows rise above her glasses.

"Do it, or i'm leaving." I whimper. "What was the point of starting?"

"I will add a little bit." She looks at me accusingly. "Is it really that painful?"

"Worse!"

Another mosquito bite and the pain reluctantly dwindles into a tiny dot. The doctor examines my mouth, as if she wants to climb inside. Beside her stands a guy wearing a blue overalls and a cap and is holding a saliva ejector in my mouth. The tube unpleasantly bubbles.

"Dear," The woman pulls her mask down and raises the chair. "We're going to take a quick x-ray."

A new room, the plastic tube against a cheek and a black slab against the other, with an x-ray image of my teeth visible on a screen. I don't understand a thing, but the doctor and who I assume to be her helper are looking through every pixel. She then takes me back to the chair, snf shows me the resulting image.

"You have amazing teeth," She says. "They're just great, which is a rare sight nowadays. They could use some cleaning, but otherwise everything seems fine and I just don't understand what's causing such pain. It's a tiny bit of damage, which should not be causing any irritation. When did it start?"

"A short time ago, when a piece of bone got in my food, and I broke my tooth against it."

"You didn't break it, but maybe the increased pressure affected a nerve ending. I will seal the crack, and if the pain starts up again we'll think about it further. Sounds good?"

"Yes, I agree." I nod with relief. I feel really relaxed now, it's as if I lost some weight. And I don't even care that my cheek and part of my upper lip are numb. It's better that way. I am ready to walk with a frozen face for a whole day, just not to experience that horror again. The doctor promised me two peaceful hours on anesthesia. I'm even scared to think what's going to happen when the time is up. It is the same as if I had a time bomb in my head, just sit and think for a hundred and twenty minutes - is it going to explore or not. I shudder at the thought.

I throw myself onto the backseat of a taxi. Shopping was not successful today.

And I was warned to not go outside.

Wait... Who warned me? Where did this memory come from, momentarily appearing on the edge of memory, just to fade away? The more I try to focus, the more I feel like I'm catching a sly fish in a muddy pond - there it is, very close, but at the last moment, the almost-caught memory slips away into the darkness of the nervous system. And I almost recovered the phrase, voice, tone...

Of course! At the last moment my phone starts ringing! The fish mockingly waves its tail and disappears into the darkness.

"Hey, baby!" The phone shouts with Ian's optimistic tone. "Are you close? Or are you already here? If so, why can't I see you?

Damn, that's a problem!

"Not yet." I answer with the sickest tone I can do. "I am at a dentist."

Silence.

Then a surprised and indignant shouting:

"What dentist? Do you want to be late? Couldn't you find another time?"

"Ian, dear," I whimper. "I had such a horrible tooth ache, you can't even imagine. I almost died in the clinic. "

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, but-"

"So are you coming or not?"

"I don't know, maybe I should go home, rest a little, in case the pain comes back. I'm scared."

"You know what?" His voice is full of cold fury, which is not good. "Really, just go home. It's not the first time that I noticed that all your words about love, wanting to be together, they were all just air. You only make witty remarks and do philosophy, but when it comes to, you always have some excuse! That's it, thanks, goodbye."