About the book: year / Max sang along, without realizing it, knowing clearly now only that he needed him, really needed him, just as he is - in fucked-up sneakers , in completely unintentionally and unattractively torn jeans, smoking two cigarettes at a time, with that chick in his anamnesis and sadness in his eyes. And this is not for a photo shoot, not for art in general, creativity in particular, and especially not for the public, because it’s too personal.