- Does it have to be a judge? – she says.

- Oh, put that away before the boss comes – he hates it when she prints out their stories on the newsroom printer.

- Don’t be so jumpy - Nasha rolls her eyes at Oblak who is trying to clean up their desk. No more working for the paper, stopwatch-writing, freak discoveries for the bloodthirsty readership. From now on, they are real writers.

- Poor twins, they had it rough from the moment they were born. Their mother, a scared, scorned servant girl, desperate, convinced it was her fault the boys are like that, a penalty for that brief moment of carnal abandonment – Nasha scribbles a note to herself on the printed page.

- Sure – Oblak smirks - and why not sell them to the circus-man, a little gold never hurt anyone, show them as a warning to the world, for purely educational purposes. After all, what God had brought together, let no man…

- It must be terrible to be considered a freak just because you have your brother with you all the time. Poor boys – Nasha puts her collection of Chinese ceramic pencil sharpeners in the bag, one by one.

- Poor us! – Oblak replies mechanically, nervous, as if he’s shoplifting  – Hurry up with those things!

- Maybe if they weren’t together, joined, they could’ve escaped – Nasha concludes.

 - I don’t think I’ll ever regret leaving this place – says Oblak.

- Just think of it, having to spend your entire lifetime with a person without being able to run away from him – one sharpener is in a shape of two round-faced children tossing a yellow ball. The ball looks like a sun, it’s connected to both children’s hands. It will never fall down. 

- It’s much better to leave a place, than to have a place leave you… I think that’s it! C’mon. Having second thoughts? – Oblak takes one last look at their now ex office. They were good journalists, the two of them, honest. Might be why it didn’t work for them.

- Let’s go! – Nasha grabs the bag in one hand and Oblak’s hand in the other, laying the claim to their future.

The editor, a short man with an oily face shining like a Moon, steps out of his cubicle just in time to see their heels disappear in the elevator. Angry, he shouts after them: