texts: Pardon me. Luce. He raises glass to breast, pulls red handle between her legs. Milk spurts into glass. Dim joins the others. Alex looks at a party of tourists.
labels: There was some sophistos from the TV studios around the corner, laughing an govoreeting. The Devotchka was smecking away, and not caring about the wicked world one bit. Then the disc on the stereo twanged off and out, and in the short silence before the next one came on, she suddenly came with a burst of singing, and it was like for a moment, O my brothers, some great bird had flown into the milkbar and I felt all the malenky little hairs on my plott standing endwise, athe shivers crawling up like slow malenky lizards and then down again. Because I knew what she sang. It was a bit from the glorious 9th, by Ludwig van. Dim makes a lip-trump followed by a dog howl, followed by two fingers pronging twice in the air, followed by a clowny guffaw. Alex brings his stick down smartly on Dim's legs.