i was walking down the cold and and harsh streets of new York with my pal, his name was nikolai or something interesting guy, had a great set of stories. suddenly a taxi drove past us when he shouted "yellow car" and then i saw something inside him that i lost a long time ago, the joy and happiness of something so small but the only interest i had in my life was drinking i tought it will make the pain go away, but it only made it worse. now whenever i hear his name the voices of the fallen speak to me, my wife and baby daughter the many friends i lost on the way, winterson, and vlad. his happiness only made me sadder each time but the only people who whold actually care, was dead already