I enter a corner shop or, rather, something like a kiosk near the bus stop. A bloke stands at the entrance, blocking the way, chatting with a woman. Nevertheless, I managed to squeeze through. There is no one behind the counter. It turns out that the woman I just passed is the saleswoman. I order coffee. The bloke says goodbye and leaves. The woman starts complaining about the weather, saying that it’s freezing cold. “Yes”, I utter, “I was chilled to the bone”.
“In the mornin’,” – she says. – “I even closed the door”. Some potential customer in the mornin’, she claims, pulled those doors and complained, thinking it was closed. “It’s bloody cold outside, innit! Do you also keep the doors wide open in your apartment?” the saleswoman recounts to me her response.
“Why are you being rude?” – apparently cried the customer, demonstratively turned around and immediately ran out.
“Am I being rude, am I?” – now the saleswoman keeps justifying herself in front of me. – “I would like to see her standing in the shop with the doors open all day long!”.
Finally, the coffee is ready, and I can leave. I don’t really have the time and energy to stand and listen to another one of her stories. “Come again! We have a very tasty coffee!” The saleswoman is exceptionally polite to me. I grab my coffee, and when I’m standing outside, I notice a small fly floating in the foam… Well, well, well.
* * *
I’m talking to Ivan Stolyarchuk, a friend of mine and a journalist who I once worked with, asking how he’s doing. He is now on the frontline.
“Oh, well, you know” he replies. “Recently, at night, I got lost in the woods and accidentally stumbled into enemy trenches. It was too dark to realise what happened, and plus, you know, I’m blind like a bat. “Oh, finally – found it!” I muttered in my radio. ‘This is not ours”, the other side replied.
Then, in an instant, a machine gun started firing at me – and I quickly grasped it wasn’t ours.”
We exchanged some gunfire until I managed to get away. A drone was buzzing over my head. A piece of log got me bruises. Our previous dislocation was like a resort compared to where I am now. Here, it’s just a forest, and Russians are scattered all around – you move a little, and mortars and drone strikes follow immediately. Previously, it was crystal clear – these are our tranches, those are their tranches. They charge and we fend off; sometimes, we charge and so on. Here, essentially, we’re sitting in the same trench line with them, roaming through the forest and bumping into each other. Yet, our daily routine is more comfortable – it’s always a joy to return from missions to a warm dugout, having light and internet.”
“Have you started smoking then?” I ask him.
“No!” he replies.
“Wow, that’s an endurance! What about drinking coffee?”
“Uh, I don’t find much pleasure in that either”.
