Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Judeophile

their fathers’ removal from power (Zhukov’s fall from grace was not accidental: the senescent emperor had no choice but to behead the victorious army). If it were not for Vadim and another two-three marginal folks, who were not strangers to humanitarian interests, I wouldn’t have even had anyone to talk to. And as much as I deeply despised “the technogeeks,” the maidens at the university also repelled me: in their dedication to study, I perceived elements of servility. But there was nevertheless a single individual worthy of attention at the institute. Lena Kharitonova. She was a fifth-year student enrolled in a parallel department, and on the “philodrome,” a huge balcony on the second floor where the institute’s beau monde gathered during the class breaks – to smoke and engage in slander – she was always surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, and upon exiting the building, was oftenmet nowby entirely grown up suitors, some of them even with their own cars. It is difficult to point to anything specific in her appearance that would explain the cause of her popularity: she was not a beauty, although it was unanimously agreed that she had a “great” figure. She appealed to me for her independence, something that I had never had and which she, judging by her bearing, her gait, her smile, simply received as part of her inheritance. I could not take my eyes off her.

In my second year, my rosy hopes of transferring into

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