Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

At home Marta reproached him for gallivanting about after curfew, and also for not taking his cell phone with him. Instead of explanations, he just looked her over carpingly. “I’ll never get used to you this way,” he finally said. She embarrassedly touched the wrinkles on her cheeks, which she couldn’t get used to.

“I’ve just seen two boys who they ‘cleaned out’ to zero….”

“Why are you telling me this? To suggest we’re living in hell? That stopped being news for me long ago.”

“I’ll figure out something,” Torne growled out stubbornly.

“You won’t figure out anything! You’re an actor, not a robber. And don’t scurry around with that satanic device in your pocket. And don’t try to ‘clean out’ anyone. Because I won’t accept time stolen from someone else in me!” “Marta, you haven’t even lived to 30, and they’ve stolen the rest of your life from you. And you’re ready to live out your life like this – in menopausal misery, without any pleasures?” “If it’s all about pleasure, then order a silicon replica of me – they’ll make you one that looks twenty-years-old from a photograph.”

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