Phoneme media freedom factory11/23/2023 ![]() I kept telling Natasha, whenever she was cleaning, to be careful around it. We put it by the door leading out of the solarium. Sashka got it a really big cage.Īnd it was the teeniest bit drafty in there. It’s so, like, it’s so cute, little paws like real little hands. KATYA: After the chinchilla, I was basically just afraid of taking on anything else.Īnd just so you know: at the time, nobody told me that chinchillas can’t take drafts. I’ll get my own ID soon, when I turn fourteen. I go, “Nice.” He goes to me: “You’re nobody here. ![]() He was sitting on the couch looking at a book about snakes. Once, in the very beginning, I was chasing a ball down the second-floor hallway, and it rolled over to him. She’ll walk off into the kitchen, and from there she’ll shout: “Dima! Hey, Dima! Have you done your homework, at least?” “You weren’t studying, again, so what were you doing, anyway? Well? I am constantly having to ask you this,” and she will slap the table with her hand, leaving a sweaty blemish on the polished surface. With raspberry chrysanthemums down the sides. Lilac trousers and a lilac sweater, for example, that’s just a little lighter than the trousers. She’ll say, “You’re not studying enough again.” She’ll sit down next to me and look in my notebook, and the room will fill with perfume. More often than not I just sit, to be honest. I sit at an oval table in the dining room. When there really isn’t anybody home, I head for the fridge, grab some chicken, and hit the books. There’s a whole basket of them in the entryway. It always feels like there’s nobody home, because there are a lot of rooms and everyone walks around in noiseless house slippers. Or cheese on a plate, covered with plastic wrap. There’s Olivier salad in a glass dish in the fridge, and fried chicken. I was there once, I brought down his tray. So he goes off to his section, down below. She opens the fridge, gets out food in cartons, heats it up. He yells, “Kaaaatyaaa! Hey! Anything to eat?” She jumps out. The car has pictures on it of Agent Smith in glasses: one Agent per door. The long-drawn-out crunching of the gravel outside. On their trips he takes pictures of her, but doesn’t talk much. An elevator like a tea glass in its tea glass holder. The railings are metallic, the furniture’s polished. ILONA: The house is big and transparent, like a soap bubble. KATYA: A wealthy woman nearing middle age
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