some nights

He waited me in the car, this old man who had life in each single his breathe. I told him I don’t want to go to restorante, or to cook, or to walk – I want be in the car, through the night city –
He shouted, he screamed, he laughed, he cried, he jumped, he moved, he grinned, he clitched, he flitched, he… he was driving, oh my god, he was driving
We both knew that’s gonna be our only evening together
I never gonna sleep with him
He never gonna want smth more

Moscow passed flying, I laughed, I adored Moscow.

Please, I asked him – we have to go to this bukinist shop

It was closed. Down there, behind the door and the stair, along with old books official black wonderful Bulgakov’s gathering was waiting for me.

I started to knock in every door and window. I just felt like the last day in my life. Why I so often feel like the last day of my life?

That’s Italian tourist – I screamed to a face of sleepy guard. – he wanted to buy from u that book about Lenin for 25 000 rubles and official gathering of Leskov – don’t remember this fucking price…

Well, I bought just 5 books of Bulgakov for 1 800

Old, smooth and black

he presented me wine in the end of the evening. He told – it’s full of sun. and (unfortunately) it was enough. That’s so cheap – to buy some parts of my soul.

Next day they stole my bag in the book cafeteria. With cellphone, with I-pod and with book. Number 4 from the official gathering.

Be ready to give back things night present u.