Drinking to forget that everything will change. The first floor of the tavern Bear red throw over the shoulder, eyes tightly closed, a new shot of vodka Stolychnaia. A spot in the snow down the middle of the graveyard of broken glass.
snowy pitch on the terrace with red eyes that blink to the aurora borealis. Sketch a dance without slipping. Holding onto the railing and smiling at the jokes of apparatchicks in Annona greetings to the President.
The president signed all the papers between two bumpers. A slap on the back.
It hurts less than the face. Work will resume tomorrow morning at the mine Kralag. But tomorrow is another day.
Tony. The bear is red, and he'll dance, tonight, on his two legs.
0 comments:
Post a Comment