Day 303
The porosity of recombinants
Elaborately hung over from slapstick self-anaesthesia, and reveling somehow in the sheer size of my ear pain, I walked without galoshes in a pair of UAH 2,000 Salomon Evasion LTRs bought on Shafa via Rivne, squinting in the dark at poorly lit residential complexes, as my legs whisked me down the hill to the heart of democracy.
All five senses get serviced inside the wire. You tell me which is worse: the dry brittle snapping thin ice covering dirty puddles, or the fumes of diesel generators, the sight of overflowing rubbish bins, the super-concentrated unpleasant taste of op-eds published across the lake?
It’s the latter, hands down.
They do this, this is all they do, all they do is this: