TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

By Remote Means

happen for a person? Butyrkinas wasn’t picky, getting by with only the necessities, more or less with just a jack-knife, maybe a fork, and he only used the most important words. Now, with the room gone silent, waiting for him to speak, there came a voice of utmost unpleasantness. Something strangled… A voice that hides in the dark, and it ’s owner – these days as well – gets his kidneys regularly punched. His liver pecked. Kicked and kicked in the solar plexus. In the balls. As if that were not enough – needles crammed under his nails, nerves pulled by tweezers, one by one, creatively. With no anesthesia, ever… Such is this world. That ’s how it ’s made. For various reasons, not everyone has made out equally well. Not everyone gets anesthesia. But this wretch Butyrkinas, standing with the mien of a lion king (and who gave this shit the right to that?), looked out from high over the crowd and said, “Tell you about it? Tell you? You think I’m going to stand here and throw pearls to pigs?!” The room was rent by murmur, and the judge silently began to rage: this cheat, this wastrel, this pederast! He wants to play innocent? Throw smoke in our eyes? Even his fingers betray him. Fingers tell us everything about a person. Here are his own charges, following the law, no matter how much he drinks, lying on the table calmly. They have no reason to be unnerved. They know what is what. For what. Because of what. But a thief ’s… They twitch and shake without cease,

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