Trafika Europe 3 - Latvian Sojourn

hunched back, now an odd, large tit, then the drooping corner of her mouth. What she was, she was. She could not step outside of her own skin. She carried herself along with her – like the large snails in her little garden carried their houses on their backs. Only what she carried could not be compared to the delicate shell of the snail. In the evenings, when she saw films on love, she too wanted to make love. Sweet shivers ran from her neck downward, tingled in the nether regions of her tummy. She had tried to touch herself there, but she always lacked courage and was overtaken by shame. But in her dreams, the film stars often returned and claimed her. Then she woke up happy sweat-drenched, and moist down there. When she wanted to bring herself a bit of fleeting happiness, she drank vodka. On one of these occasions, she seemed different to herself – as if the mirror had created a princess in place of a frog. She pulled various pieces of clothing from her cupboard, tried them on in several combinations and was altogether pleased with herself. That time she fell asleep in her bed fully dressed, with her boots still on. In the morning she guiltily gathered the scattered clothes and turned the mirror by the washstand face backward. She put on her warm pants, the heavy canvas jacket, pulled on her thick knitted hat with the earflaps and left for the factory. The customary din there calmed her and her headache vanished.

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