пускай с моею мордою
   печатных книжек нет,
  вот эта подпись гордая
есть мой автопортрет



рукописи не горят!.. ...в интернете ...   

head header

February 28.

In the morning I went to Rooshtic, Valyo's brother-in-law, who, according to the lead from Valyo, had a guitar.

Ay, the information was true to life but his guitar was being played 25 hours a day.

However, he promised to find some other one for me no later than March 4.

At the Club a minor VIP from the paper's staff paid a flying visit – the situation is surely getting better.

Then Arcadic appeared and asked about Rita.

One page after lunch.

Then Sahtik came home from Underground (she doesn't trust in no truce), and took me over there to participate in providing their room with a gas jet.

At that moment the gas pressure was frightfully weak, and I got scared that it would be cut off.

So, on coming back home from Underground, I boiled some water and washed up the dishes and then myself.

Scarcely had I commenced my yoga, when Sahtik came in with Ahshaut declaring that we had not had supper together for ages.

Thus, today's yoga was sacrificed to the family gods.

Among the civilian Azeri prisoners captured in Hojalu, there was a pregnant woman. They brought her to the Hospital (presently in the basement of the Government Block—the former CPSU DC Building next to the Editorial House) where she gave birth to a twin of boys.

Arthur, the landlord's son, became an errand boy at the
phedayee PHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter".
headquarters; he told that today Hojalu was bombed with the GRAD missiles from Azeri controlled Janhassan village – to spoil the lost.

He also said that no looting was allowed in Hojalu so as to distribute houses there to those whose flats and belongings were destroyed by bombardments.

<!--" Hey, Robin Hood! Not only you were full of noble intentions!"-->

A few minutes ago, Sahtik brought Ahshaut home to wash up his bottom, today seems to be an all-out washing day. However, by now it is over.

The water-walk's ahead.
Then there will be one more
Good night.

P.S.: The truce, in fact, is over: right now I can hear din of a distant Grad bombardment of villages. The war goes on.

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