Monday Starts on Saturday
Monday Starts on Saturday I was getting close to my destination. Around me, pressing into the very road itself green forest, occasionally making room for fields, blooming with yellow sedges. The sun had long before begun to set but simply couldn’t finish it and hung low just above the horizon. The car bounced along the narrow road, covered with crunchy gravel. Every time I let a big (piece, chunk, stone) under my wheel, the empty canisters shook and rattled from the trunk. On the right, from the forest, two figures came, stepped onto the shoulder and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let go of сбросил газ the gas, looking them over. They were, it seemed to me, hunters, young, perhaps a bit older than me. I decided I liked their faces, so I stopped. The one who raised his hand, stuck a смуглое hawk-nosed face into the car and asked smiling: ...