A friend (let’s call her Natasha) complains: “I sit in a cafe, I drink cleansing smoothies with beets and I hate myself – because the taste is rare shit. Next to the dumb babency passes the eggs of Benedict. And cuddling, the shit. The hand, you won’t believe, pulled herself behind the fork (to knock her in the bowl!) Here somehow I became thirsty – I am here sitting all of such an offgenny in a stretching DKNY shirt, a pot like a nuts, hair on the belt, burned and... alone. And she puts the mayonnaise sauce in cholesterol and smiles. I’ll call the waitress to order an omelette with double bacon, a piece of Napoleon, and... End it. For whom do I keep the shape? Why Squats and Diets? Who wants my ass? The Despair! The Disappointment! Thinly!
But here I notice a guy taking pictures of me on an iPhone. Drunk with this taste. and smiles! Such a cute one! On the table is the Maxim magazine. Well I think, Ave Maria! Madonna heard my prayers. I sharply grab the smoothie and take a straw in my mouth. I invite you to dialogue. I pose in the best traditions of the Via Gra. I photograph, but it doesn’t fit. Well, I think it’s definitely a pervert! Jack is sweat.:) I can't stand shorter, scratch the patterns and fit myself. I say, “Hi, you’re probably photographing for Maxim?” He lifts up his beautiful eyes, almost tearing from enthusiasm. We silently experience the pre-orgasmic Zen of the first acquaintance. I lower my eyes to his iPhone to see myself with his eyes... And there... There, the fox, the Pokémon. No, do you understand? He fucking caught the Pokemon!!”
© Evgeny Chereshnev