In my last journal I wrote very private stuff imho. Almost everybody here would go and whine about things like that to your friends etc. The thing is that I have really great friends, that try to help me but I'm a person who can't speak of death, specially about my best friends death. I just try to forget about those recent events but they are comming back. Somebody said that it is easier to talk about things with strangers and I think that there is some truth in it.

When you try to forget about smth that thing is comming back. Always. Today I woke up and I felt great. I knew this would be a good day. Then I noticed something. On my desk there were lying some books. Instantly I rememberd that I borrowed one of Steven Perry's books to Slawek....

Since this moment the whole day I thought about this book. I remembered all the good things that were and I imagined all the good things that could happen. We knew eatchother for 13 years.

I came back from work and my father told me that I should call a friend of mine, coz he got something very important to say.

Well, things look like this. Slawek didn't died as we all here supposed. Slawek was killed for a pack of smokes. Yes. You read it correctly. A FUCKING PACK OF SMOKES!!!!!!!!! He was coming back home from a small party and at a train bridge (it was like 5 or 6 am) a few SKURWYSYNY asked him for some smokes. He never ever touched a cigarete so he didn't had any by him. So what do you think did those idiots do? Yes, they trow him down the bridge on the railway. He was killed by few drunken bastards that wanted a pack of smokes.

Now, can anyone tell me what is the fuckin sense in that? I know a bunch of great young ppl, they live healthy, they are making good money, they are studying with good grades and if they find themselfs in a place like this eye to eye with an idiot they simply die.

Tomorrow I go to the funeral. There will be like 60-70 ppl. I know almost all of them. We grew up together. Now we die.