I exit my apartment elevator to a woman coming into our "lobby" (that's a bare concrete room with mailboxes and a torn chunk of rug to all you Westerners. Yes! A rug! Nice...)
The woman has with her three animals. Logic forces me to assume that these are three dogs but one could just as probably be a horse, while the other two less probably have dog faces buried somewhere in those tiny fur-ball bodies.
As she tries to untangle the three leashes she is talking away to the creatures in Russian--clip clip clip--just talking away, Russian word after Russian word.
As I make my way to the door I smile to myself. That's so weird of her, I think. Dogs can't understand Russian.
I then immediately make a mental note to tell Kira we can't buy anymore of the cheap vodka. Clearly, that crap eats at your brain.
No comments:
Post a Comment