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Serhiy Zhadan
probably serve a person well
to change their social circle,
daily routine, name, and hair
color every once in a while,
and now I’d had the chance
to test that theory. My
hair had gotten lighter and
grown out—in July I started
combing it back, and then in
August Kocha cut it with his
prized German scissors. My
old clothes had gotten all
greasy and stunk of wine and
gasoline now, so I bought
myself some black army
T-shirts and a few pairs of
pants with countless pockets
to store all the bolts, keys,
and lightbulbs I came across
at work. I had become more
sensible and self-assured—
maybe changing my daily
routine did the trick, ormaybe
it was the fact that I was
working with some serious
people. Fresh air really can
cool your head and light a fire
inside you. I reconnectedwith
all of my old acquaintances,
all my old loves, all my
teachers and enemies. My
old
acquaintances
were
genuinely happy I had come
back, but it didn’t go any
further than that. My old
loves introduced me to
their kids, reminding me of
the diffuse passage of time,
which makes us wiser, though
this newfound wisdom is
inevitably accompanied by
cellulite. My teachers looked
to me for guidance, while my
enemies asked me to lend
them a little cash so they
could continue leading their
worthless lives. Life is a cruel,
but fair. Well, sometimes it’s
just cruel.
On the weekends, Injured and
I would play some soccer. A
bunch of community college
guys would stop by the
station—guyswhoconsidered
playing on the same team as
our chubby living legend a
great honor. We had a lot of
work, but I’d gotten used to
it. Olga and I still weren’t on