"Da," said Khartov, leaning against the brick wall by the open window and letting the cold breeze bypass him as he smoked. "He does. Six hours at a stretch. I drive him to the theatre and sit outside the door to his studio while he works with his...what's the fucking word...dancemaster."
He took a drag, nodding.
"Da, that's right. The dancemaster."
Khartov paused.
"Got to watch a few times," he added.
The drapes were billowing slightly as the wind chased down the canal.
He looked out speculatively.
"And da, it's raining. Every night. Tonight I think it's heavy. Tomorrow morning it's gone."
He shrugged.
"Same old bitch, this Leningrad. You're not missing anything."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-02-17 12:41 am (UTC)He took a drag, nodding.
"Da, that's right. The dancemaster."
Khartov paused.
"Got to watch a few times," he added.
The drapes were billowing slightly as the wind chased down the canal.
He looked out speculatively.
"And da, it's raining. Every night. Tonight I think it's heavy. Tomorrow morning it's gone."
He shrugged.
"Same old bitch, this Leningrad. You're not missing anything."