Scream #02 29 января 2002

Самиздат

Sweet - My Olga.

 My Olya | Christy: skrju | og.dec.zool


 Today is Friday, my day off. Olya today with red hair, you
 you know, she's so funny! And even freckles, they make her face
 luminous, it seems to radiate warmth, the whole point of these 
weight Nushki. Olga does not like freckles, but because today 
is Tuesday, and  it with another person and very sober. Put on 
the long UB ku, gold-rimmed spectacles, and asks me to call her 
Margo.  Now she sits behind a large desk in mahogany

 and sign the papers. Yes, she loves people to lend their
 signature, and then pick them up. Together with the white 
fibers of skin. My  Olga hates the color, so she always wears 
glasses, and today,  winter Sunday, there is nothing in the 
same color, she threw them  in the garbage can. Big black 
garbage can of woven  plastic, having tied a thick yellow 
rubber wire, full  crumpled paper and disposable tea bags. Now 
she was  in the office, which she loves to hate. My Olya 
despises ak kuratnost and shiny polished people, they make her 
gag  reflex. Then she goes to the bathroom and pukes in the 
sink. Polished  to shine a white sink.


 Today is Monday, December. We are standing on the street, 
opposite  another, between us two hundred centimeters and three 
human body.  Our eyes connected thread of madness, of which the 
accustomed spots katsya our sober friends. They are strange, 
they do not believe that we have is sufficient to only hear the 
voices of each other, they can not understand that  just one 
look in his eyes and touching his lips to us sufficiently to go 
crazy. Here and now, this bespectacled  Granddaddy, choked, 
used acid, touched me with his white  sleeve. Thin white old 
man in a robe. Why is he here in  frost-Petersburg - in a 
bathrobe? White old man. 

 My Olya sat side by side, I was lying on the floor, arms 
outstretched, and yielding  intoxication of music. We 
understand each other, I have the floor, he feels  my every 
movement, every beat of my bright yellow heart. Olya  sitting 
beside him. Today, she is beautiful, in tight jeans and bell 
bottoms  with a nice neckline. I loved her just two minutes ago.

 I sat opposite her and began to examine her lips. My lips Oli.

 We're happy. Light runs on shredded wood floor to shine, here
 She fell down and laughed. Bright child ... So nice and warm
 with bright yellow heart inside. Light. Our daughter.

 Autumn. Dry leaves stuck to the wet from the shower glass, we 
sit  in the fireplace room and look each other in the mouth. Me 
and Olya. We love.  Olga did not notice the light softly crept 
up from behind and focus on  her shiny pistol. I continued to 
be touched her lips,  my lips Oli. Light slowly pulled the 
trigger. Bah! From the trunk  yellow flag came out on a thin 
stick. 

 Today we are thirty, Tuesday was eighteen. I do not ho chu die 
without my Oli ... And yesterday she told me that her name  
Tanya. Well, Tanya. M o I T I A ​​N.