TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake
There are only two cats in the stairwell, well, also the one tossed out from the first floor, but they constantly bring guests. I live with a bunch of humanitarians: no one dares to call the “cat police”. That wouldn’t help, say the old building dwellers. The local cats would run home, hide under flowery sofas, hang out there for half a day, pee in their box for the next two days, walk about the yard for another day, and then once more they’d be bringing every cat they meet on the street back to the stairwell.
Today, along with the usual cats, among the scents of cooking days and disinfectant, I smelled a new one. By the door of the “dead teacher”. Radiation? Evaporating mercury? Bubonic plague or mammal-eating plants? Just in case, I covered my nose with my hand. The poisonous scent stays in my nose and doesn’t give off a smell. Like a closed perfume bottle.
In specialized stores, seventeen-year-old saleswomen covered in Nr. 3 tonic cream will tell you about such
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