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Hey, Lyosha

There are prison tattoos on the backs of his hands. Faded, blotchy shapes and a finger that jabs at a phone. "Hey, Lyosha!" He shouts, as every face on the bus swings to him. There is no answer, no voice on the other side. "Lyosha." He says again, then stares angrily out the windows. I step on someone's foot by accident, apologizing quickly. The young man waves his hand as if to say I did not need to say anything. The man with the tattoos sips from a giant cup of soda from KFC that is balanced on the empty seat next to him.

We pass a hotel we used to live next to, where expensive escorts are ferried in and out like yachts in a harbor. There is a fresh line of flags snapping in a low wind, and an American one is curiously absent. Plenty of the businessmen behind those windows are from the states.

The man brandishes the phone and hands it to the young man in front of me. I did not see that one coming. The young man wipes invisible dust from it, a reserved frown …

(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding - a peaceful song

the darkest day

home and home (bite your tongue)

the cold and the bagels

black like them

the in-between moment

rotten eggs (the bad father)

the bridge

(how to finish) The Year of the Horse

no museums (Fernando)

Rocco (please take a moment to vote for us before midnight Oct 22)

normal

manhattan (and a jasmine sazerac)

passing Gagarin (the Americans)

the props make the character

under the skin

the princess and Potempkin

two

terribly awake

Partizanskaya (where everyone is smiling)

don't eat (the blueberries)

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best personal blogs