Blueprint.

They would laugh at her, when she said she felt a hundred years old. But she already knew how things would end.
History was like a broken song track, needed to be started from the beginning and adding a new scratch every time.
There was light at the end of the tunnel but at the end of the light, there was another tunnel.

Explaining was even worse than listening to people who were content with themselves. A so-called merited authority to give advice about everything and nothing, as if there was a blueprint for life.

E.Y.