Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Svyatoslav Loginov

set a direction then. – Give me a place to stand and I shall move the world, – mumbled Ilya Ilych. He pulled the fat purse off his neck, extracted a coin and carefully, trying not to disturb the jelly, placed it upon the grey surface. He was prepared for the coin to immediately sink through the substance and disappear from sight, but nothing of the sort happened. Although, if he was to step away, the silvery sparkle would of course no longer be visible. And yet this was better than nothing. That’s the ticket, the thing is to occupy oneself with something, and the hysteria is gone, as if never there. – Whoa, – spoke Ilya Ilych out loud, – I am liable to spend all my coins this way, and who knows what they might be good for around here?.. And anyway, it’s not exactly a great marker. A pole would be nice… Seemingly, nothing changed around him, nothing moved or flickered, yet instead of the little silver speck the amazed Ilya Ilych found a wooden pole sticking out of the grey substance in front of him. – Our coin is no simple coin, – stated Ilya Ilych, carefully pulling out the rod. It was a perfectly ordinary pole, a rough wooden stick about five feet long, typical of leftover materials from wood harvesting. There was a bit of leftover bark on

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