From East...

The odour of western corruption was recognizable well before I got to the staircase. Not any staircase, of course, but ours, eastern, with real Slavic lastrico and panelies. Lastrico itself grimaced recognizably as if it smelled the capitalistic stench. I ran up the stairs (as the elevator haven’t passed its annual examination by the UDT - Umbrella Dodging Technicians or whatever they call each other, I mean, we all know that this is another administrational cell established to fuck up your life). With a bit of a pant and a feeling of irreversibly lost health I opened the door to my flat and stepped on my carpet. Its texture was undoubtedly unusual, emanating with anxiety. Disturbed I headed towards kitchen (which took me like 2,5 steps together with avoidance of yellow plastic bag). I was right! She standed in the kitchen, tall and proud, gazing at me with utter contempt, so common for Western folks. Some like to enjoy it while sipping whisky. Others just during warm weekend. Whatever warm ,which I have seen only in television, means. Fortunately i know its true form, it is unable to deceive me with its sweet flavor. Slavic instinct is well suited to defend against obesity and caries by the way, as it is most common to use it as a poison against uncommon guests, ideally distant family members and Jehovah witnesses. Suddenly my stream of thoughts was abruptly stopped by a hit on my occiput against under-ceiling cubbyhole, mysterious lost of balance was not caused by intoxication though, and western rot couldn’t have been so strong… Shined linoleum. Utter lack of adhesion in contact with woolen socks is an inspiration for sci-fi writers and designers of magnetic rails for a good reason. Stars swirled in front of my eyes disrupting order of rubber fugue imitation. Wildly rotating constelations were of no help while I was trying to recall, deduce or solve this puzzle by any means. Shopping, perfect tidiness and western rot, what’s more in the middle of the week!