Russian woman in America
It got cold. Now we can waste time. Sleep. Think of sea. Boundless freedom. Get colds. Wait for everything to fall in its place.
She dressed in black and orange again. Bought orange and gray presents for the kids and went to decorate a Christmas tree. Their mother wore orange and black. She knew she picked the right gifts.
In the subway two black women sat in orange seats across from her, sleeping. The girl with green eyes called. She didn't cry anymore. Maybe they will see each other tonight? Maybe.
She passed the city's favorite desert place: Serendipity. Of course. The guy with careful eyes called. Would she come over tonight? She would. It was raining. A yellow cab splashed her orange pants with dark cold water. The green-eyed girl was already there when she walked in. They kissed. Gipsy music.
It was dark. The trucks downstairs started to unloaded the boxes with flowers. There was some dog barking somewhere. He's lost in the parking garage across the street. The street vendor sends toy helicopters flying. He catches most. Some escape and land on the scaffolding. There are three there for last year. Yellow, green and red.
Sleep. Not enough. The rest could have gone for any length of time. His hand smells of her. She smells his hair. He wants snow. Presses his headache on cold glass. Maybe then he can have a clear thought. Her ex-business partner is his best friend. He wanted to go to Russia. She came here. The French footnote arrives on the 27th. His birthday is the 28th. On the 29th her best friend comes from Russia. Then - New Year's. A week later she will go to Brazil.
His mother's name is Vesna. Which is "Spring" in Russian. Her mother's name was Svetlana. Which is "Light" everywhere.
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