Maybe it’s the pattern of the paving stones, or maybe it’s the design on a stranger’s scarf in the metro, but something suddenly reminds you of that apartment carpet.
The very apartment that, not so long ago — just yesterday, it feels — was the very definition of home. With its old, creaky parquet in the hallway, the clothesline with multicolored pegs on the balcony, the sideboard from a city starting with a "B" (Bucharest? Budapest? Bryansk?), the terrifyingly gas water heater, and, of course, the big living room carpet.
Now, it is home to completely different people. People who know nothing about the sideboard, or about how you used to love studying the patterns on that very carpet, watching the shadows of the towering poplars outside the window while your grandmother conjured up lunch by the stove in the kitchen.
And doing so would have been a hundred times more pleasant with Andrey Panin's mix for 5/8: Radio playing in the background. That much is certain
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Maybe it’s the pattern of the paving stones, or maybe it’s the design on a stranger’s scarf in the metro, but something suddenly reminds you of that apartment carpet.
The very apartment that, not so long ago — just yesterday, it feels — was the very definition of home. With its old, creaky parquet in the hallway, the clothesline with multicolored pegs on the balcony, the sideboard from a city starting with a "B" (Bucharest? Budapest? Bryansk?), the terrifyingly gas water heater, and, of course, the big living room carpet.
Now, it is home to completely different people. People who know nothing about the sideboard, or about how you used to love studying the patterns on that very carpet, watching the shadows of the towering poplars outside the window while your grandmother conjured up lunch by the stove in the kitchen.
And doing so would have been a hundred times more pleasant with Andrey Panin's mix for 5/8: Radio playing in the background. That much is certain
You look out the window, then at your phone screen, then out the window again. Why is it getting dark so early? Suddenly, images from a similarly cool August evening many, many years ago appear in your mind. The dim glow of a couple of yard lamps (there were three altogether, but the third one, as always, was out). An old bench with peeling paint. The creak of swings on the playground. The clingy orange taste of cheap chewing candy. Zhenka’s classmate’s ridiculously wide sweatpants. A lone rusty shell-shaped garage covered with the first yellow leaves (remember how you always wondered what was inside?). The metallic smell on your palms after hanging on the monkey bars. A throbbing bruise on your knee from falling off your bike at the dacha. And that strange, uneasy premonition that carefree life — the one you’d grown so used to over those three months — was about to end. All of that was there, of course. The only thing missing was Marques’ mix for 5/8: radio. And yes, that’s a terrible omission
5/8 : radio
Maybe it’s the pattern of the paving stones, or maybe it’s the design on a stranger’s scarf in the metro, but something suddenly reminds you of that apartment carpet.
The very apartment that, not so long ago — just yesterday, it feels — was the very definition of home. With its old, creaky parquet in the hallway, the clothesline with multicolored pegs on the balcony, the sideboard from a city starting with a "B" (Bucharest? Budapest? Bryansk?), the terrifyingly gas water heater, and, of course, the big living room carpet.
Now, it is home to completely different people. People who know nothing about the sideboard, or about how you used to love studying the patterns on that very carpet, watching the shadows of the towering poplars outside the window while your grandmother conjured up lunch by the stove in the kitchen.
And doing so would have been a hundred times more pleasant with Andrey Panin's mix for 5/8: Radio playing in the background. That much is certain
