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Title Untitled

The slow advent of peripheral vision had lead to this man, lead to a rainy window from his car on a Saturday afternoon. Note the coffee, the plastic chairs, uncomfortable and worn out. A small donut, unglazed and half baked sits next to his miner’s coffee. A stubble beard, ravaged here and there by grey hairs, decorated a long, dark face, perturbed by some growing insanity, eating his heart out from a long dark winter. The lines were all starting to crawl over the skin on his skull, so were most things in his life by now, tainted by a long mourning, a spring of sorts. Andrei Karsakev was, like many in his town, a depraved man, living on the fringes of U.N expectations for developing countries. Fuck the U.N, he has worries for himself with the world tearing at its seams. The economy recovers, and a revolutionary takes the seat as a throne in this lonely coffee shop, and then, with a certain depression, and a motion for drugs-money, a whore approaches him.
“Sir…If it weren’t too much trouble sir” The whore may have been older than eighteen, black lipstick and all. It hardly matters here. The towns may actually endorse pimps coming in and spreading their business, any money is good money. Andrei smiles politely, wishes her to go. She doesn’t. By not moving, she has violated the first wanting of non- contact between them, confusing the advocacy of no contact for Andrei.
“It will be quick and cheap, I need to fill the gaps for my provider, sir, no-one else sees me here” the whore is no longer an object in a Russian coffee bar- she becomes something of a universal object to Andrei, tainted by political decadence, by years of socialist dreams, a babe born into trouble as the sparks around her flew in some crazy, bewildering essence of neglected life, she was the child of this century for him, later on, the kind of girl that muddles everything up by telling herself she’s failing. It was mud for her, some quick sand to destroy the gates of her sanity.
“Only for talk.” Andrei negotiated the terms further, mostly the unbearable price of the job itself.
“It isn’t too hard, child, just listen to me, nod your head a couple of times and comment in some fashion.” Andrei had made it look like it was some kind of simple game played in the rehabilitation centre he attended, not so long ago. The whore, whose name was, in actuality, Polina Laskny, nodded her way through the agreements, played business woman only when she thought it absolutely essential: just as she was told to do so. Independence had been a nuisance for her provider, and was dealt with only because the provider couldn’t deal with some kind of syndicalist community of prostitutes.
“If you don’t mind sir, it would be three thousand rubles” Polina blurted something unholy in her profession, she was trying to lose this mysterious oddball. She’s met too many oddmen in her life.
“Fine.” A curt nod, a widening of the eyes to intensify their contact was enough to subordinate.
“This should not feel alienating, Ms. Laskny, far from it. I’m no gentleman, I do not sip fine coffee. I drink sludge in the mornings and ride vans to mysterious places I cannot pronounce without the help of a local, I drive thousands of miles for one single government and I cant make the wages of a cleaner.” The last words grinded between his teeth, fighting for air, desperate and isolated, Andrei was no anarchist; he simply hated organized states for their bureaucrat slaughter, knowing himself to be shallow and unpredictable. He led Ms.Laskny into his van, offering cigarettes and cheap brandy to face his predicament. She accepted both, gradually not caring anymore about anything but the alcohol. Andrei started as soon as she began staring at other cars from the condensation on the front window.
“Its too bad you didn’t see me grow up, communist and such” Andrei took a haul from his cigarette, which he had lighted seconds before the girl was gone from his own reality.
“I have my own problems, self conflicting, political and filled with political angst” Pauses, looks outside for some sign of life, falls asleep through talking-
“And you wouldn’t have noticed if were dead or not, cause nothing had any matter back then, it was, eh, inane. What I wanted to talk to you about, without the sex, or the perversion of any State, what I wanna say, is that I want revolution, again, once more for the people, you understand, mousey?” Mousey nodded, whiskers twitching and eyes like they were filled with black blood-
“The state gives and takes, but its like some horrible beast we got to feed every day of our lives, its so sad, because were devoted to creating this world in peace and beauty, but instead we work for corporations that sponsor direct military action” Mousey, girl once more, terrified Andrei, it was a subtle thing, sitting in a car made by people he had never met, or no intention of meeting, because there were acquaintances who would connect these two groups. Andrei, a child again in his stifled world, took a pen knife and tried stabbing at his knees, but instead fell in a cold, harsh whisper of a threat to his fellow humans, so clamoured in gold and fame, those percentages who no doubt felt nothing for him, but the interest of profession.
“I’m still a kid, I’m still a kid, there’s no door in this car, there never will be”
Ms.Laskny was fast asleep, and as Andrei looked upon her, he suddenly realized how young she had been forced into this profession; it was a strange moment, because he was rubbing his chin and becoming aware of the fact that this world had become only human, and if some how Andrei could lead new awareness, if everything just started new, like he did when he was born, then sure, he could do something. It was like a comatose dream. The diary of keeping his ideal as high and straight as a stealth bomber.

"Triumph are our tired eyes"


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by sadmafiosi

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