History recounts that Laetitia Scheidmann had just celebrated her two-hundredth birthday at Spotted Wheat Nursing Home when she declared her intention to fashion a grandson. This the medical wardens immediately forbade. The old women spent their days staring at the black larches that bordered the grounds, talking to them for hours on end. They counted the crossbills and jackdaws fleeing the uninhabitable regions and heading toward the camps, where life was less grim than elsewhere, and all the while they made plans for the future. By this time they realized that they would never die, and they lamented the sad fact that humanity had now entered upon the more-or-less final stage of its fading�

She spent the next few months scavenging the dormitories for stray shreds of rag and bits of lint. Then, once the surveillance imposed on her was eased, she sorted her finds, pressed them into a ball, and cross-stitched them together until she had an embryo. Secreting it away inside a pillow, she entrusted it to the OlmĂšs sisters who set it out in the moonlight to ripen.

‘A sombrero fell out of the sky and landed on the Main Street of town in front of the mayor, his cousin and a person out of work. The day was scrubbed clean by the desert air. The sky was blue. It was the blue of human eyes, waiting for something to happen. There was no reason for a sombrero to fall out of the sky. No airplane or helicopter was passing overhead and it was not a religious holiday.â€�

He was not a good-looking man. He had an attractive but very erratic personality. He allowed his moods to dominate him and they were very changeable. Sometimes he would talk too much and at other times he wouldn’t talk at all. He always talked too much when he drank. When he wasn’t drinking he was very shy and formal around people and it was hard to get to know him. Some people thought that he was very charming and others thought that he was a total asshole. The truth lay somewhere in between and it was very close to the halfway mark.

He experienced the basics of love ended.
Of course in his case these emotions were being played through a kaleidoscope of goofiness and insanity. But still he suffered genuinely and realistically as any other person. After all, he was still human�
Phantoms and fantasies of love raced back and forth across his mind, galloping as if on horses frenzied by snakes with no place else to go.

‘A sombrero fell out of the sky and landed on the Main Street of town in front of the mayor, his cousin and a person out of work. The day was scrubbed clean by the desert air. The sky was blue. It was the blue of human eyes, waiting for something to happen. There was no reason for a sombrero to fall out of the sky. No airplane or helicopter was passing overhead and it was not a religious holiday.â€�

He was not a good-looking man. He had an attractive but very erratic personality. He allowed his moods to dominate him and they were very changeable. Sometimes he would talk too much and at other times he wouldn’t talk at all. He always talked too much when he drank. When he wasn’t drinking he was very shy and formal around people and it was hard to get to know him. Some people thought that he was very charming and others thought that he was a total asshole. The truth lay somewhere in between and it was very close to the halfway mark.

He experienced the basics of love ended.
Of course in his case these emotions were being played through a kaleidoscope of goofiness and insanity. But still he suffered genuinely and realistically as any other person. After all, he was still human�
Phantoms and fantasies of love raced back and forth across his mind, galloping as if on horses frenzied by snakes with no place else to go.

Philip Stephanovitch was a model citizen. And all this notwithstanding, there was just a little impish adventurous streak in his character.

Suddenly a brisk tune was struck up. The flaxen hair of the pianist fell over the black and white keys of the groaning keyboard. 
Three hands moved squealing bows over collapsible music-stands. Brazenly inflated lips began to spit into the narrow mouthpiece of a flute, extracting from the black wood a clear, high and tremulous howl. All this combined in a tune which consumed you and filled the heart with a promise of impossible but easily attainable pleasures.

The following morning Philip Stephanovitch woke up at a certain hour� Each person has his own manner of waking in the morning after a drunken orgy, and as nothing is unknown to a Soviet citizen, so there is nothing strange in the fact that one Soviet citizen wakes up in one way, another so, and a third prefers not to awaken, but lies with face to the wall and eyes closed, waiting in vain for the friends who have forgotten to bring him half a vodka and a cucumber.

Philip Stephanovitch, with a dagger in his mouth, was dancing a Caucasian dance in the middle of the room. Over his jacket he wore the tunic of a general, epaulettes jumping up and down like golden claws. 
Twisting and turning his long legs in a most unbelievable manner, he was waving a beer bottle, groaning and grimacing. It was terrible. And all round him stood noisy people of the highest society � drunkenly applauding and beating time.

Philip Stephanovitch was a model citizen. And all this notwithstanding, there was just a little impish adventurous streak in his character.

Suddenly a brisk tune was struck up. The flaxen hair of the pianist fell over the black and white keys of the groaning keyboard. 
Three hands moved squealing bows over collapsible music-stands. Brazenly inflated lips began to spit into the narrow mouthpiece of a flute, extracting from the black wood a clear, high and tremulous howl. All this combined in a tune which consumed you and filled the heart with a promise of impossible but easily attainable pleasures.

The following morning Philip Stephanovitch woke up at a certain hour� Each person has his own manner of waking in the morning after a drunken orgy, and as nothing is unknown to a Soviet citizen, so there is nothing strange in the fact that one Soviet citizen wakes up in one way, another so, and a third prefers not to awaken, but lies with face to the wall and eyes closed, waiting in vain for the friends who have forgotten to bring him half a vodka and a cucumber.

Philip Stephanovitch, with a dagger in his mouth, was dancing a Caucasian dance in the middle of the room. Over his jacket he wore the tunic of a general, epaulettes jumping up and down like golden claws. 
Twisting and turning his long legs in a most unbelievable manner, he was waving a beer bottle, groaning and grimacing. It was terrible. And all round him stood noisy people of the highest society � drunkenly applauding and beating time.