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 were woken by the cries of seagulls circling above the neighboring house. A memory surfaces — so distant it feels almost imagined: a waffle cone with an enormous scoop of strawberry ice cream in your hand, old fishing boats rocking at the pier, a bandage proudly displayed on your knee after a tumble down the steep limestone stairs (was rushing to the pool really worth it?), a dusty little truck creeping along the cobblestone promenade with the glass bottles rattling ominously in plastic crates in its bed, a sharp pebble lodged in your sandal that you stubbornly ignore. Soon, your parents will return from the souvenir shop in that ancient tile-roofed house, bringing you a garishly printed sunhat — the one you’ll leave behind on the bus ride home. For now, though, you listen to the seagulls wheeling high above, though this moment deserved nothing less than Victor M’s mix for 5/8: radio. But how could you have known that back then?
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
