You spot a large crow sitting on a chestnut tree branch. Suddenly you go back ten, maybe twenty years. An endlessly long literature class. To kill time, you look at the dusty leaves of the ficus on the windowsill, the utterly expressionless face of Fyodor Dostoevsky in the portrait above the blackboard, the deeply carved letter "A" on the desk, the delicate gold-rimmed glasses of Yulia Alexandrovna, the frozen soap streaks on the laminate floor, the scuffed shoes of your classmate Sashka, the tube of a fluorescent lamp that burned out six months ago and still hasn’t been replaced… and the large crow sitting on the branch of an old birch tree in the schoolyard. If Tomo’s mix for 5/8: radio had existed back then, you would’ve gladly slipped on your headphones and drowned in it. But alas. So instead, you had no choice but to watch the crow
