- STORE (2:405/333.21) ––––––––––––––––––––––––- STORE -
 From : Kat J Trend                         2:5030/168.19   Sun 07 Dec 97 03:21
 To   : All                                                 Tue 09 Dec 97 06:01
 Subj : Vasya
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Hi, hi, All!

It seems that burden of time willingly lays itself on every shoulder bowed,
and here comes the morning, grey and gloomy, much worse than the evening before was about,
and here shuffles down the street the stranger in black wet slipper,
and it's certain Vasya going down to the store for vodka, a scribe and a tippler;
And – victory of the goodness! – it coincides suddenly, the vodka and the money,
and sorrow splashes already in lucid spray and melts till there is no any
and it leaves behind hope, crystal as the content of the bottle being passed into Vasya's pale hand,
Hope on the aftermorning when hangover finally falls, but life rises up and stands.

And here is Vasya quite refreshed, even with pinkish shade, with his aunt at the table sitting,
holding with one hand his glass and with another a little cream cake he is eating,
and his aunt checks her spectacles, drinks as if dropping from her back a heavy luggage,
and tells him stories about her productive labours in the State Hermitage;
her daughter sits beside her, being, accordingly, Vasya's cousin,
she holds glass with vodka as well, and a herring with beet and mayonnaise in,
And Vasya recites profoundly that drinking is harmful and may well lead to potation,
to which his cousin and aunt both answer that it's time for to drink, not for silly quotations.

They drink and they drink again, and the bottle is over, and Vasya goes out, again, second day out,
then he returns and listens again to the same old jokes' roundabout,
And the time runs faster and faster, sweeping those sitting there like a snowslip,
new bottle it is half full, the aunt chattering, the cousin went to sleep;
but it seems to be too early for the store, and for the subway it is too late;
he wants to take a bit a fresh air and he goes down to the yard, in a small hope to constellate,
but the yard have sunk down in the fog, which is not so rare on the Neva's banks
and Vasya stands and dithers, feeling relaxed or languish,
the fog overhangs him like the white downy shawl through which white big plum hangs,
The Moon.

Hi!         Katy J. Trend
–- Red Lizard #3.00.Beta1+
 * Origin: Тpи гоблина и один эльф, блин... (2:5030/168.19)