Hello. My name is Oleg Razumovsky. I’m from Russia. I have several books published in Russian. This story is one of my first attempts writing creatively in English.
The architect lived in a communal apartment on Bakunin Str.
Inside the house there is the smell of garbage and the common in our time inscriptions on the walls: «all is shit!», «everybody sucks!», etc. In the past I knew only one secret place in the city where you could read that the whole world is a brothel, and all people are whores. Now anarchy of thought became almost universal.
I went into a small room of Architect, where the mess, neglect and darkness reigned. Everywhere was dust, dirt, cobwebs. Torn curtains are tightly drawn. It stinks. On the table, covered with some useless stuff, is an old broken TVset. I remembered the words of Architect: «I don’t watch telly, I haven’t even seen the face of the present President. And I don’t care a fuck.
On the floor were scattered the belongings of an ex-boxer Mike, who was hanging out here on Bakunin for some time and regularly beat up the owner of the flat. The boxer, who drank like a pig, died recently, sitting on the bench in a crime-prone area, where you can buy cheap moonshine. Just like the writer Edgar Allan Po, who according to police record, drank before his death a glass of wine.
The Architect had kept for a while the bottle with Mike’s urine. The ex-boxer peed there at night because the toilet in the flat was very far, at the end of the corridor. Once Architect forgot what was inside of it and took a sip from the bottle.
Well, why did I come to visit my buddy? Oh yes, he said the little green men had just got him. Aliens from outer space. He complained to me when we were drinking last night in the park, that they filtered his thoughts and dictated actions. No sooner he got a new job, they arranged that he was immediately fired. The architect, who knows everything about constructivism, is dressed like a bum and drinks nasty moonshine with pathetic freaks.
“Here on Bakunin they recently killed the local bandid Prothesis, – said Architect when we sat down at the table and opened the first bottle of vodka. – The corpse was found in a ravine behind the garbage cans. It is considered to be a mysterious murder, but I know who had done it. The alians to be sure.”
Through the holes in the curtains one could see a building in the style of constructivism. Originally it was intended for commune of advanced citizens. In recent years though there lived the dregs of society. Now the tenants left the colapsing building, and Architect says that it is inhabited by the little green men. I suggested that it would be good to restore the structure and turn it into a first class hotel. Then place there parlamentarians, businessmen, pop stars and other scum and in the end blow them up along with the fucking aliens.
” Went for a walk the other day,- continued to complain Architect, – and met a pretty gal, who asked me to accompany her to the constructivist building. Well, I could not refuse such a nice chick. Frankly, I wanted to fuck her near a garbage dump. She was very talkative and smiled all the time, but the moment we approached the slum, them little green men appeared. They took the girl and carried her inside the shelter to do the experiments.”
The fucking bastards tatoed a swastika on Architect’s forehead. He told me how he once riding in the bus was pressed tight to one gorgeous piece of ass. And she turned out to be a tough bitch. Cries: “I’ll tear off your balls, motherfucker”! And here, my friend takes off his cap and shows the swastika. And says inspite himself: «shut the fuck up, bitch, I’m a fascist».
The girl was real scared and didn’t say a word any more.
The poor Architect confessed to me that he constantly feels the urge to go to Church and spit in the icons, cursing and blespheming loudly.
After some time we, when a couple of vodkas were finished, decided to drop the gloomy subject of fucking alians and began talking about modern literature. But Architect suddenly flew into a rage and shouted in a loud voice: «Fuck your literature, screw books!»
I realized then that the aliens realy got him.