Hghgh
Polina Sychova
“On my way home”
The ship was late because of the strong storm last night, just one hour ago we threw anchor in the small French seaport; the night train to Germany was gone. Therefore, I had to stay an extra night in a strange and unfamiliar place. Evening seemed to be boring, because there wasn’t any entertainment, except of dull music and boring conversation with completely strange companions. I wasn’t feeling like going to the hotel, so I just walked down the lit street, full of people, noise and music. At first I enjoyed walking through the provincial crowd but soon I became bored by all this intimacy of strangers, their laughter, they looked at me as it I was a stranger. I didn’t like how the light was pouring from thousands of sources, everything in this place was unpleasantly strange to me.
As I spent one week at sea, I still felt a sense of intoxication in my blood.
Suddenly my head spun and, in order to escape from the noise, I turned into a lane, without looking at its name; into another one, narrower, in which gradually the noise began to die down, and next I break into an aimless roam in a labyrinth of branched, like veins, streets, that was turning every time darker and darker as I was moving away from the main square. Tall arch lanterns, these moons of main streets, didn’t burn here, that is why thanks to poor illumination I finally could see the stars and dark cloudy sky again.
It seems that I was not so far from the harbour, at sailor’s district, - I could feel it because of sharp fish smell, by the sweet putrid smell that keep algae even discarded with a surf on the shore, by that, appropriate to a musty rooms, fumes, which impregnated those alleys until the moment when strong storm will scent them of by its own breathe. I was revelling in the twilight and unexpected loneliness, I slowed down my steps, looking down one street after another, but none of them was similar to its neighbour. Some were peaceful, others
“On my way home”
The ship was late because of the strong storm last night, just one hour ago we threw anchor in the small French seaport; the night train to Germany was gone. Therefore, I had to stay an extra night in a strange and unfamiliar place. Evening seemed to be boring, because there wasn’t any entertainment, except of dull music and boring conversation with completely strange companions. I wasn’t feeling like going to the hotel, so I just walked down the lit street, full of people, noise and music. At first I enjoyed walking through the provincial crowd but soon I became bored by all this intimacy of strangers, their laughter, they looked at me as it I was a stranger. I didn’t like how the light was pouring from thousands of sources, everything in this place was unpleasantly strange to me.
As I spent one week at sea, I still felt a sense of intoxication in my blood.
Suddenly my head spun and, in order to escape from the noise, I turned into a lane, without looking at its name; into another one, narrower, in which gradually the noise began to die down, and next I break into an aimless roam in a labyrinth of branched, like veins, streets, that was turning every time darker and darker as I was moving away from the main square. Tall arch lanterns, these moons of main streets, didn’t burn here, that is why thanks to poor illumination I finally could see the stars and dark cloudy sky again.
It seems that I was not so far from the harbour, at sailor’s district, - I could feel it because of sharp fish smell, by the sweet putrid smell that keep algae even discarded with a surf on the shore, by that, appropriate to a musty rooms, fumes, which impregnated those alleys until the moment when strong storm will scent them of by its own breathe. I was revelling in the twilight and unexpected loneliness, I slowed down my steps, looking down one street after another, but none of them was similar to its neighbour. Some were peaceful, others