Месяц: Январь 2016

Notes of a Terrorist* (*Freedom Fighter), chapter 4

A few minutes of knocking at the gate and shouting «Is anybody here?» didn’t bring any result. Somehow, I did not want to go inside by myself—first, the doggy wasn’t looking friendly, and second, who knows what’s there. And who. Perhaps I should call back and tell the good news of my arrival. I pulled the phone out of my pocket, dialed… «There is not enough money on your account…» Wonderful. As always, just in time. I knocked again. Zero response, but the dog barked a couple of times without much enthusiasm. Mmmm… Maybe the taxi driver dropped me at the wrong place? And what am I supposed to do? I walked around the fence to the left. There were some gardens. I returned. Still no one. The doggy barked from time to time. Fuck. I heard a noise and looked around. A young boy on a bicycle was coming to the gate.

«Hi!” I said as friendly as I could imitate. “You live here?»

«Hello!” Politely replied the young generation. “I do. You’re here to see my Pa?”

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Notes of a Terrorist* (*Freedom Fighter), prologue

Judging by the sound, something big and heavy was coming from the northwest. Fuck, a bad thing about being a rebel fighting against the army is that you don’t have “something big and heavy,” and they do.

Overlapping the hum of the approaching armored vehicles, somewhere ahead there was a loud sound, like a lot of layers of some rough fabric being torn at once. Then again, this time further ahead.

“It’s a KPVT![1]Sullen warned. “Everybody pay attention, they are coming!”

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О коньяке, голубом сыре и наказаниях

Пока народ с ужасом интересом наблюдает за курсом енотовых шкурок, позволю себе немножко порассуждать на отвлечённую тему. Если конкретнее, о наказаниях за преступления. Сразу уточню, что всё ниженаписанное относится к абстрактной, сфероконно-вакуумной системе, ибо конкретные судебная, исправительная, да и в целом правоохранительная система Эрэфии прогнили насквозь, не могут быть реформированы в принципе и подлежат поголовному (ВЫРЕЗАНО ЦЕНЗУРОЙ. См. ст. 282 УК РФ).

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Notes of a Terrorist* (*Freedom Fighter), chapter 3

I like trains. Especially if there is a dining car. You can sit comfortably, slowly sipping beer, eating pistachios, absently watching the views and reflecting on the futility of all things (just for example, can be something else). I usually spend most of the ride there, so I did not see the need to change the habit this time.

I sat down, ordered a beer and pistachios for right now, Olivier salad and solyanka[1] ASAP, and plunged into a contemplative and thoughtful state of mind. Rather, I tried to. The problem was a waitress of middling prettiness, persistently trying to force me to «buy a girl some beer». Fuck, why is she bothering me? «How are you?», «Where are you from?», «I’m so bored here…»

Yeah… I do not need company, I just want to sit alone! Although, I’m the only customer, so there is nobody else she can stick to. Mindful of the fact that the soup and salad are not yet ready, and she could spit in there, I was smiling softly and playing for time. So, the food arrived, the danger was over, and with relief I offered my «girlfriend» to write off a couple of bottles of champagne from the bar on crushing during heavy braking and join me. Not a good idea? Well, okay, then I’ll stay in splendid isolation, if you do not mind. For a couple of minutes she was trying to joke and show me the bends of her figure, but seeing that I was focused on the absorption of the solyanka, she removed herself with a contemptuous snort as an indignant goodbye. Thank you, Lord… Читать далее

Notes of a Terrorist* (*Freedom Fighter), chapter 2

Moscow… We’re used to criticizing it. Stuff like “This is wrong, and that’s not the way it has to be, and prices for everything are crazy, and annoying immigrants are coming in large numbers, and the environment is bad, and generally speaking, it’s impossible to live here.” Anybody saying «I like living in Moscow» is looked at like a madman. He is not in the know, you see… The funny thing is, the crowds of refugees from The Unrubber City[1] won’t be seen no matter how hard you look for them. Apparently, they travel by tunnels under the ground. Oh, wait a minute, there is another possibility—there are no crowds of refugees from Moscow, because it’s a great city to live in. At least, for me, Moscow is one of the best cities on this planet (I’m talking about global cities). The only two things that it lacks are the sea and mountains. You can think of me as a pervert, but that’s my opinion.

After two years in Freetown, the capital of our country looked like some paradise on Earth. The metro, grazing herds of white girls, high-rise buildings popping out here and there like mushrooms after a rain, normal Russian food. Three days in Istanbul have not yet dulled the acute sense of satisfaction with the civilization around me. And it’s not in the financial or residential comfort aspects (nevertheless, the hospitality of Alex, my good friend and old comrade in African adventures, who sheltered me in his house in New Riga[2] was very much helpful indeed). If the city is «yours,» you will enjoy it even without money, and even spending the night at the train station will not spoil the impression. Well, as long as it doesn’t become a habit. I know from experience, since during my first visit to the beautiful city of Rome I was forced, by an incident, to spend three days on a budget of one hundred euros, prudently hidden away under the insole of my shoe at the beginning of the trip. 72 hours passed like a moment; I walked around the historic center almost around the clock. The only thing I was sorry about is that I could not enjoy the Italian cuisine, so I had to postpone it for some other time. On the other hand, I came to Dubai loaded with money, and still I spent the last two days in a hotel with a book. The city wasn’t “mine,” and that’s all. Читать далее