Rest in Egypt. The locals are poor, but speak Russian, and, as you dreamed, learn very quickly. I stand at the bar and order a whiskey. For the ease of communication, I tick my finger into the right bucket. The Barman:
Do you have that hood?
Having doubts, kiwi...local not ah how delicious, of course, but to be so. A tourist standing by the laugh explains. I ordered a cocktail yesterday, pointing to the bottles:
I have colas, here’s that hue, and here’s that fucking shit!