Voroshilovgrad Read Online Free Page A

come?”
    A line of cars had already formed behind us, and it was getting longer by the minute.
    â€œMaybe we can go around?” I suggested.
    â€œHow?” Lyolik answered sourly. “We can’t get out now. We should have just stayed home.”
    A plump hen hopped up on the hood of the car, took a few measured steps, and froze in place.
    â€œThat means death is just around the corner,” said Bolik. “I wonder if there are any stores with fridges around here.”
    â€œYou wanna buy a fridge?” Lyolik asked his cousin.
    â€œI want some cold water,” Bolik explained.
    Lyolik honked the horn. Frightened, the bird started flapping its wings and hopped off the bridge, soaring into oblivion. Maybe that’s the only way to teach them to fly.
    â€œAll right then,” I said, finally cracking. “You two head back, I’ll hoof it from here.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Lyolik asked. “Just sit still. They’ll pull that thing to the side of the road soon and then we’ll turn around and head back home together.”
    â€œYou two go. I’ll walk a bit and I’ll get there somehow.”
    â€œWait up,” Lyolik said, concerned. “How the hell are you expecting to do that?”
    â€œI’ll get there,” I said. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Drive safe.”
    The cops were getting antsy. One of them picked up a chicken, held it by the leg, and toe-balled it. The chicken flew up into the air, soared over a few cars, then disappeared under the tires of one of them. His partner also maliciously grabbed a chicken,tossed it up into the air, and socked it with a right hook, sending it zooming up into the May sky. I hopped over the barrier separating the pedestrian walkway from the road, slipped around the trailer, slid past the drivers, crossed the bridge, and strolled along the morning highway.

    Then I stopped and stood under the warm sky for quite a long time; the empty highway resembled the metro at night—it was every bit as desolate and every minute there felt just as interminable. After the intersection at the city limits, there was a bus stop that had been intricately vandalized by anonymous sojourners. Its walls had black and red patterns scrawled on them, the dirt floor was thoroughly littered with broken glass, and dark grass grew from underneath the brick foundation where lizards and spiders were hiding. I decided against going inside. I just stood in the shadow cast by the wall and waited. I had to wait a good while. I saw the occasional truck making its way north, leaving dust and utter hopelessness in its wake, while nobody was heading south at all. The shade gradually ran out from underneath my feet. I was already thinking about giving up. I calculated how long it would take and where my friends could be right now, but then a blood-colored Ikarus bus, desperately spewing exhaust as it barreled down the highway, appeared from among the rocks and meadows along the riverbank. It rocked a bit, riding on two wheels momentarily, then stood on all fours like a dog shaking itself dry after a swim. Barely able to catch its breath, it switchedgears and crawled toward me. Shocked, I froze and stood staring at this clunky vehicle coated in dust and smeared in blood and oil. It rolled over to the bus stop slowly. The door opened. I caught a whiff of its insides that reeked of death and nicotine. The driver, shirtless and panting from the stifling heat, wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and shouted:
    â€œWell, sonny boy, you getting in?”
    â€œYeah,” I answered, and did so.
    There were no empty seats. The souls who inhabited that bus were a languid bunch. There were women in bras and sweatpants with bright makeup and long fake nails, tattooed guys with wallets hanging from their wrists, also in sweatpants and Chinese-made sneakers, and kids in baseball caps and athletic uniforms holding bats and brass