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[May. 23rd, 2014|11:48 am] |
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Beautiful evening - finish work early, drink alone and rattle off three pages (finally get out of the 10 houses of Eve with ME Smith), take the microbus home, the driver plays classy country and western and has a great chat with those grouped at the front. A kid gets up to let an old woman sit down - fall asleep with a grin on my face. Balozi is gorgeous in the evening warmth - kids run to mothers, old tantes laugh pa rysski. I pick a buddlia and walk home like an old-school poet - kids wave through the window - and there's cake and wine, cos they remembered my names day. Last time I had this feeling was when my dators was kaput and I worked in a basement internet cafe: old school for tantes to pay their bills - low key and warm and friendly, where people would leave the room to take or make a call: the best of this place (Latvia) - better than the wanna-be intellectuals and snobbish academics and radoshi intellegencia and far, far better than the bearded reps of the passionless arrogant zeitgeist and their ilk. Warm people who stir up a beautiful mood. Soz, but that's what I think. |
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