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no answer (the melon seller)

A shiny black van pulls up, wheels skidding on gravel. Five, maybe six men step out all at once. They wear black t-shirts and army fatigues. Their heads are shaved, slick with sweat in the afternoon sun. Their arms are huge, squeezed into those shirts a few sizes too small. All at once they circle a fruit stand by the road. It is made of plywood, held together with a few screws. One good sneeze could level it. Rows of torpedo shaped melons sit on bulging shelves, below them a cage full of watermelons. The men yank smartphones from their pockets, taking pictures, making calls. I assume they are some covert team that extorts vendors, either sending them home and destroying the fruit or worse. I somehow expect the man does not have a permit and the right papers to sell anything. In Russia, you need permission to do just about anything. There are no five year olds with lemonade stands here. 
I cross the street, distancing myself as I glimpse the men between the cars and trolley buses tha…

no answer (the melon seller)

Breathing the right air

the forbidden zone

underfoot (rare air)

on vacation (see you next week)

approaching the unknown

coming clean

babel

small change (exceptions)

cold nostalgia

after the storm

leaving the party

I believe in artichokes

the empty

the planned shot (a free ride)

Queen Lubov

closely watched trains

secret windows (don't look back)

molecules and potholes

the broken egg

Moscow at night

erasers

things you think of when traveling

a borrowed name (the lucky ones)

almost

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best personal blogs