Trafika Europe 3 - Latvian Sojourn

summer, the past, as if there never was and never will be one like it again, as if it were the last. As if we are running for the last time with pounding carefree steps toward the banks, toward the water, and it flows smoothly from the tributaries and empties out into the Dnieper. Show me around the flat terrain, across those 106,000 square kilometers, geographically, like a straight-A student. There, where the water drainage basin stretches past the nuclear power plant. Scribble on the map, all along the river's 748 kilometers with a black marker. Give me a little more time. I'm playing here in the grass, it's raining, my dear little unknown comrade from the Pale between Ukraine and Belarus – I'm not even exactly sure where you are, on the map in my textbook that little corner is too small, between two holes of the spiral binding that hold the pages together. So tell me about it now, give me time to stand here a little longer, in the rain. In return, let me admit that you are now extending this moment in Paradise – she is blonde, my little Soviet comrade from Ukraine, from Belarus, she is a blue T-shirt and blonde hair in braids and shoes with a strange design on the heels. Tell me whatever you want, don't make me ask, my lips are busy, my words are busy. I put a lot of effort into my Russian, see how beautifully I write to you with loops and hooks, correctly using the instrumental case and the backwards “e,” right?

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