and went thought the balcony door. Air was chill and day was dim — too dim for his sleepy eyes. Probably, evening.
“Borya, close the door!”
Borya looked down on the street. The road was wet; some children were arguing behind the garages, screaming squeakily, pushing each other. Probably, fall.
“Borya!” the voice was coming from the inside.
He turned around and looked at Stepan’s annoyed face. Borya exhaled the smoke — face became even more annoyed. Stepan closed the door himself, slamming it loudly.
“Close it yourself…” Borya muttered, holding the cigarette in his rough yellow fingers.
He was thinking. Stepan was humble and weak — like home nurtured asthmatic — and his parents would pay the rent anyway, so there was no apparent reason why… Well, it didn’t matter as long as he didn’t matter. Probably. One of the kids had finally punched another in the face and now they were fighting properly. He took one last puff at his cigarette and threw it down the ugly fainted flowers.
Borya went back inside, trough the kitchen and to the living room. Stepan had already got over it, at the moment he seemed way too involved with his laptop to care. Borya considered changing but then remembered there was no use, so his stained yellow shirt was as good as the rest. He looked around for a second and headed away to the hall.
“Where are you going?” Stepan asked.
“Work.” Borya searched the pockets of his coat, hoping to find some money.
“It’s six pm.”
Borya clicked his tongue: he’s overslept a bit.
“The night shift.”
Stepan didn’t say anything.
“I promised to take Ihor’s place,” Borya added. “He’s ill.”
He checked Stepan’s pockets too but there was hardly anything of use: just gum and twenty hryvnias. He took it just in case, even though it clearly wasn’t enough. Borya left the flat without locking the door.
Of course, he didn’t know where to go: he lost his job god-knows-how-many days ago. So he planned to meander around till he would stumble somebody across or at least till morning. It grew darker, the road was wet, kids behind the garages were screaming as if it was the end of the world. Probably, fourth-graders: middle schoolers usually have more dignity.
Borya took a sharp turn away from the roads, deeper into neighborhood. Everything here was wide, low and overtaken by trees and trash. It reminded Borya a lot of his home town, even though it was very far from here. The houses were the same, the planning was the same — sometimes he wondered whether he just stuck at the same place, cursed to meander the same neighborhood till…
“Borya! Haven’t seen you for a while!” Somebody waved to him, inviting to join the company. Borya smiled, trying to recall all the names. Oleh, Ihor, Olha.
“Had some stuff to take care of.” Borya approached them, still smiling.
“Yeah, I’ve heard.” Oleh’s tone was tough and mocking.
Stepan called but Borya declined him immediately.
“I’ve told how they kicked you out.” Ihor said.
“It was their loss and their problem — their fatal mistake, I would say.”
“You always mark the run of bad luck, don’t you?”
Borya laughed with everyone to show he didn’t take it seriously. Stepan called again — denied.
“Who is it? Mom or girlfriend?” Olha put her cigarette out.
“Neither but close enough.” Smile on Borya’s face grew stale and tired. “Hey, have any smokes to share?”
“Sorry, man, the last one.” Oleh also put his one out.
“Oh, really? Don’t you think I’m…” Stepan called again. “One moment…”
Borya stepped away from others and accepted the call.
“What the hell do you want? I’m busy.”
“You took things from my pockets. Again.” Stepan said.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Borya decided offense was the best defense. “It’s not my fault you forgot where you put your keys or some shit and you keep calling like it’s the goddamn end of the world.”
No answer.
“Listen, I’m busy, I’m working. You can whine me all night about your pockets and your profs and your papers but, frankly, nobody cares about you and your useless degree, so you’d better stop wasting everyone’s time. At least I… I have stuff to take care of, I have wage once in a while and all you do is sit on your ass and whine about literature. Make me a favor and be useful for society. And stop calling me.”
He finished the call before Stepan could answer anything, then took a deep breath and returned to others.
“Sorry, guys, this moron couldn’t lace his shoes on his own.” Borya smiled once again. “I’d better go, have some stuff to take care of.”
They waved him goodbye. Borya hurried away, deeper into the neighborhood.
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