July 4, 1993
Sunday
8:40 AM
Zhorik blew through like a hurricane, threw together some coffee, dropped into an armchair, and boiled over:
– Guess what we’re taking up! Vouchers! And where? On Nauchny Prospekt! Lyubochka is waiting there and can’t wait for us. Ah, how I love natural blondes with red curls around the cunt! July has come, the bees are fucking, tomorrow we go to Yurnatolich. Today the plan is simple – get a proper carriage, so as to match. We are no longer riff-raff to raise dust in a «Ford», we are genuine portfolio investors. Get up, wake up, we’re off to buy a jalopy!
I got up off the couch, shuffled off to the bathroom.
Didn’t feel like breakfast. Took a gulp of coffee and went outside.
Stood under the sun’s rays, looked around. Quiet and peaceful.
Butterflies darted through the air with no rhyme or reason, tracing flight paths — up-down-sideways-up-sideways-down. I felt like coming up with some allegory about my own scatterbrained life, comparing it to the flight of an insect. Didn’t get the chance.
A car horn sounded from over by the archway. Zhora, honking.
I hopped into the Taurus. We sped off to the northeast. Moscow was empty, only the occasional trolleybus out on the roads.
— Say what you will, student, but early Sunday morning is the best time to work out the shortest possible drive to your destination. Watch, we’ll make it to Fyodor’s in forty minutes flat.
We made it in forty-eight.
