Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

are going to cost a lot this year,” one of the younger old men jokes loud enough for me to hear. It is growing dark. I go home. The lady never came. It has been three days that the lady has not appeared. She does not come out to the balcony in the morning. I wait till one in the afternoon – nothing. I go to work. There were people at her house yesterday. The light is on in the evenings. I quickly return. My sister has arrived with her children. We exchange a few rare words. The children take my box of pens and mess about with my papers. I’m irritated. My sister washes my blue carpet and keeps looking at my face, she can’t stop herself. “Step away from the window, I’ve come to chat with you. Let’s go, you’ll get the chance to sit at your window again later.” This irritates me. I say – step out and go home. In order to avoid offending them too much, I walk them out. I haven’t been going to work for a week. Because of my tardiness and absent-mindedness, they asked me to write a resignation letter. It came out looking like a poem. I hugged and kissed everyone, it was difficult to leave the building. I stepped into a shop on the way back, where I had once seen a pretty dress with a blend of different colors worthy of Parajanov. I bought it. It has been a week that I’ve sat in front of the window as I eat, read, going to the bathroom and returning quickly to sit and wait for my old lady. No sign of her for a week. Some people occasionally appear at

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