“Give up the lower berth. We’re with a little child, and you can sleep on the third one,” the woman on the train ordered.
Lyubov Ivanovna was sitting on her rightful lower berth, carefully smoothing the creases in her thick linen trousers. She was fifty-eight years old, thirty of which she had spent working as a senior goods specialist. That profession had taught her two things: how to tell the freshness of bologna at first glance, and how to […]
Continue...