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

Stepanakert
                   Saga

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

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    days:

December 24.

Morning at the Club.

Araic, Rita, Arcadic, Lenic, respectively, peeped in one after another.

That dentist was killed by his own wife – hacked nine times with a meat ax. An act of jealousy. Life is running high even here and now.

<!-- Or else the investigation was done by the gold-seeking killer's pal.-->

Lenic, on my request, made a drawing of an oil lamp do-it-yourself chimney receptacle. For the project you can use any canned food tin.

I was beyond myself with gratitude and shook his hand two times.

He left and I went on with the rendering from Azimov.

Lunch.
One page.

"Sea Battle" with Roozahna and Sahtik.

A nice snowfall of magnificent fluffy flakes soft and meek and blurring made me take the kids for a walk.

On coming back I was sent to Underground to stop rat holes in the compartment my family recently moved to.

Practically, sealing up of the holes would make the place more habitable. Politically, it'll consolidate the rights of the immigrant family to their places in the room.

Yoga.
Supper.

When I saw them to Underground the mother-in-law suggested me to take home from there a baby high chair belonging to no one. She discovered it when in preparation for the exodus from the previous compartment she took down the rags dividing off the realm of dust.

I defied outright. (Ahshaut has a chair of that very make.)

Today's water-walk got snowed in. The drifts are too deep to slog through far enough.

Anyway, the flask I brought yesterday remains intact (three pails) so I am enjoying a night off.

There was a separate explosion at three p.m. and till now (twenty to ten p.m.) calmness reigns outdoors.

Wishes of a good night to all both out- and insiders.

стрелка вверхвверх-скок