Новости Донбасса

See Luhansk ... and not to die. Part 5

See Luhansk ... and not to die. Part 5

I have to say that there are no any global assessment of the situation and social and political analysis in this paper. I was only during one day (24 September 2014) in the city and can not describe the whole picture.

I'll tell further.

The doors of cafe "Monolit" in the store "Absolyut" are open. There is a table, and some food, vodka, and mineral water on it. A pair of gloomy kids are carrying out an audit of their cash to freshen the nip.
I'm passing the road. That's the "patch" in front of a traffic light. Here, two months ago, almost before my eyes, 8 people have been killed by a mortar round.

Girl in a dazzling white blouse with a long cigarette in hand has stuck in my memory. She stood across the street from the site of disaster, near the shop of mobile phones and smoked nervously. Her face, a white blouse, and a badge "Credit counselor" were smeared with the spots of blood of others. She, with a straight face, quietly said releasing smoke: "That's fucked up, that's fucked up, that's fucked up..."

Traces of the explosion are still visible on the pavement of the "patch"; balconies of the neighboring house are still warped, and kiosk "Stanitsa" is smashed by explosion.

I'm going to my aunt. Huge broken cottonwood is rocks near the entrance to the torn wires. There is no electricity, the mobile phone does not catch MTS signal. I'm knocking on the door, my aunt opens. Alive and well. Phew ... There is a battery of flasks full with water in the hallway. My aunt jokes: it's currency, strategic gold reserve.

It is dark in the hallway, but out the corner of my eye I see a huge fat cat. Bono, motherfuck, you had paunched well! (you can postpone a war but never a cat's lunch). I take him on my hands, he tries to escape, then has sniffed, and became to pur. Recognize me, the fat bastard))).

I'm trying to give products to my aunt, she is not taking and saying she has everything. All except money. She fed me with the hot soup, tea and pancakes. Probably not all that bad ... She says yesterday there was light and the Internet. She spoke with her son on Skype. She persuaded him to return to Luhansk, they say, it will soon be all right. Yes, yes, of course all right, of course, I'm mumbling. What's there to argue, not why I came ... Fine, I have snuggled the cat, ate, and ran on.

I took the minibus 117 in the "Marik" district and went to mother of my friend from Kiev whom more than a month she could not call to and begged to visit. Travel on the minibus, tellingly, is the same as in prewar time: 3 hryvnias.

We pass the area of Vavilov street, and now a miracle! I see the billboard with the inscription "I am Ukrainian and proud of it" in the Ukrainian language.

I fucking did not believe my eyes. And let it all smeared, but it stands after all!

The radio is purring in the minibus; it is playing Russian pop-music: "Lube", Gazmanov, Krug, and suddenly - Aerosmith (hard lines on them now!), and then the culmination. On the tune of "The smoke of menthol cigarettes", a good fellow with pained voice is sorrowing for killed bros who shed blood for the Novorossia.

Because I'm an old sonneteer my ears were painfully wounded by verbal rhyme. Especially the author failed to rhyme the names of cities of Donbas. Then a girl with Werther robot voice told about the weather, and I have arrived.

I went out at the stop "26 Bakinskikh commissarov". Service station across the road is in operation. Little shop at the opposite bus stop is in operation, too. Illumination is not present anywhere till now.

I passed through the settlement by huge private residences. In the courtyard I saw jeeps and other cool foreign cars. Almost without numbers. Bumpers had been beaten. Some bearded son of Caucasian mountains from in camouflage and with a gun silently stared from the balcony at me as at a shit. I quickly passed by simulating to be an ideological rag tag.

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