Persona Non Exista

A lawyer by vocation, a ghost by circumstance. I have been studying law longer than your textbooks have existed. I remember the rain of 1924 and the taste of latte in 2026. 📍 Between lecture hall 404 and the archive..

[archiveglitch]

Today, I watched the hustle and bustle of preparations for Miss Law School. Young people always put everything off until the last minute — two weeks for a dance? But, surprisingly, they manage to get everything done.

I look at their movements and see a smoky 1980s pub. Jazz, men in impeccable suits, women whose dresses whispered with every step. My place is the far end of the bar. Rudolf, our regular bartender, poured drinks and sold secrets. He knew more about everyone in that room than a detective.

Thanks to him, I knew who was in love and who was a criminal. It's a pity that modern bars have lost this magic of confession. Now all I can do is watch these diligent students. They are trying so hard to embellish their celebration, to add at least a drop of the magic that used to be as natural to us as the air we breathe.

I look at them and think: maybe magic isn't jazz or dresses, but this unstoppable desire of people to add a little colour to their lives.

<Watching the shadows of the 1980s dance in the eyes of 2026.>

[archiveglitch]

First seminar. Professor Hobbs tried to get the audience to think, but the students just diligently wrote down his words. When he asked what was the foundation for building a house, the air was filled with predictability: "foundation," "capital," "plot."

I sat on the edge of his desk, looking at these children who dream of becoming lawyers. "Desire," I whispered softly into the void. Because without the will to have a home, bricks remain just CLAY.

At that moment, Hobbs froze and looked straight at me. My non-existent heart skipped a beat. But no... his gaze passed through my shoulders and caught on the window pane. He was looking for an answer in the rain, and it was sitting right in front of him.

[archiveglitch]

Word of the day: "Petrichor" - the smell of wet earth. It takes me back to that day when the sun seemed to shine brighter. I remember how lords, blinded by passion, fought a duel for the heart of a beautiful lady. The rain had just stopped, and the ground was muddy. One of them, probably too passionate, slipped... A funny sight, despite the seriousness of the moment..