< Tim Skorenko
If the night to go to the city, lined with dark, as happens autumn jacket fur-lined, and catch the meteor shower, and whisper, "this city - my" and wish that here a student is not left in the world where the climate is perfect and the lapping ocean of concrete foot some of the eternal statue, where palms become close and distant countries where the Andes are much more affordable than the Carpathians, the dream of freedom suddenly become a prison for you, hopelessly enamored of Harlequin; you stand with a bayonet, a Japanese policeman in December, at the gates of Nanking anemic. It seems he has for you, he spread his insides, leaving you and reserves of their own, and women, and their webs rumbling subway, and residues from holidays past you passed, they say, take it, my good, grab, if strong enough, nibbling my stars scratching my facades; only the city you as usual, did not ask what you yourself in its jungles necessary.
And look at the sky; taking off the plane quietly Signals: Look, I'm running away. And you think, maybe still fall, justifying this death hope your a miracle and your right, because to stay here it is impossible not to believe in a decent walk in place, but you know, my little one, in this country there are no miracles without connections, the ruble, intimidation and flattery. If the city does not press, it is you are so used to being completely invisible becomes the severity of the words he puts on you white stone their own language, and all the time a little bit adds, again and again forced to seek justification for those cases that once might well have signify laziness, and now - for what, and you share in half in order to have time to become a sniper, and the target
So you - it's me. To himself in the second person to speak a lot easier, since giving advice now everyone is ready, everyone knows a recipe for how to get to the ballet or the opera without a ticket, how to solve all the problems for ten dashing minutes, find a job and a house and a wife with a salary; Only the same people, like a chip, you will be crushed and asked, "My friend, that at heart you need here»
I stand at the top. The tooth used land line. At the Kremlin star. Beneath me boils Gomorrah.
I - Japanese soldiers. I'm getting ready to enter the Nanjing. General promised that I will give this city.
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