That was strange trip at all. Instead of foretaste of being at the capital again I was irritated with perspective to spend about twenty two hours en route in company of workers, hearing their serials and being squeezed at the seat. The way there I was sitting with the young boy in track shorts. He was so passive (as the second one was too) that without my stubbornness we would sleep touching each other constantly. The sleep was torn on pieces with the stops and attempts not to touch the guy.
When sleepy me went out of the bus there was violent freeze. The people at the subway looked at everything with harsh view. Grey colours and texture of not fresh fabrics. My unconscious feet knew the road perfectly.
During the day when I was en route I thought about my attitude to Moscow. At the morning it was rather irritation, malice and cleanliness. Roads, corridors, excavators can tire a lot.
I wasn’t to be friendliest at the McDonald’s where I spend two hours reading the book. And I wasn’t to look perfectly good. It didn’t matter for me. There was not such worry as before. I could speak with the guardian at the institute in frivolous way, ask questions insistently and wait until unfamiliar man asked about my purpose and took me some instructions.
Two hours of break I spend at the sunny Park. People were hurried for work and passed through the empty places with pathetic music and appearances. I sat at the cleaned square and could observe how museum workers greeted the street cleaner. White shiny snow and silence among old non-commercial buildings. I lost there and found a way through the technical park.