TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake


We take turns ringing the doorbell. The doorbell plays Mozart for half an hour, with three pauses. And that’s it. “It’s broken,” says Nr. 10, removing her finger from the button. “You bruuke it,” say the o. b. d. Jews. “From wheer iz dat bad smell cuming?” We all take turns smelling the cat-pissed doors: the smell is neither here nor there. We go our separate ways.


Today, first thing in the morning, the old building dwellers suggest to everyone that we should break into the sixth flat, and without having anyone agreed, they do it themselves.

There’s no one in the flat. There isn’t even any odor.

Now the o. b. d. Jews are collecting money to pay for fixing the door. I already gave them money, but the flat Nr. 10 dweller has not, and says she will not.


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