Sansara Wheel

Moscow. Winter. Snow. The boy is playing football. Suddenly – the sound of broken glass. A double runaway, a rough Russian double with a broom, runs out and chases a boy. The boy runs away from him and thinks: “Why, why is this all? Why all this image of a street boy, all this football, all these friends? What for??? I have already done all the lessons, why am I not sitting at home on the sofa and not reading the book of my favorite writer Ernest Hemingway? ”
Havana. Ernest Hemingway is sitting in his office in a catered villa, she is finishing her next novel and thinks: “Why, why is this all? How tired of all this, this Cuba, these beaches, bananas, sugar candy, this zhara, these Cubans !!! Why am I not in Paris, I am not sitting with my best friend Andrei Morua in the company of two lovely kurtisants, drinking a morning aperitif and talking about the meaning of life? ”
Parge. Andrea Morua, in her bedroom, stroking the beauteous courier at her thigh and sipping her morning aperitif, thinks: “Why, why is this all? How tired of this Paris, these harsh French, these stupid kurtizanki, this Eiffel Tower, with which you spit on your head! Why am I not in Moscow, where there is cold and snow, not sitting with my best friend Andrei Platonov over a glass of Russian vodka and not talking to him about the meaning of life? ”
Moscow. Cold. Snow. Andrew Platonov. In the earflaps. In felt boots. With a broom. Chasing a boy and thinking: “Fuck, I’ll catch up – I’ll fuck you!”

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