I'm a man of 24 years. This is a good age for a person to do everything he dreams of without restraint without worries, especially given, that I have no wife and no children. For mine 24 lazarnik I am a materially happy person – I have the car I wanted to have, and most people sigh at her, well-paid and relatively prestigious work, own home, enough technique to pamper myself when I want. In the next moment, the question always arises what of it. All of the above does not make me a better or worse person than others, where is the point then? Why do we fight so much. In the end, we all end 2 meters underground, which is the thing that really remains behind us proving, that we once existed, that we have led the life we want and not just lived? Damn, there's no such evidence except in our heads.