Listening to Bach

Maybe love like a dream doesn’t fade? No. And the wreath drifts along—wherever it goes. Maybe you’ll sit again in your convertible? Maybe for free? No, for money? Yes. Maybe on La Boutique shoes, it’s all *top-tier*. And Proskovy in the suburbs is still alone. I didn’t mean to bother you, but he’s *somewhere near*—definitely. Somewhere near, for sure. Without knowing pain or fear, the doctor lectures listen to Bach, without knowing pain or fear, the doctor lectures listen to God. Maybe you left the chat for a reason. Maybe you walked barefoot, not caring about your feet? And oh, what a man. A bottle of vodka on the table, wind outside. Maybe these are your planes? Maybe it’s Vasya—who doesn’t know him? Maybe, yes, everything’s for…