
Heads turned our direction.

'Do you enjoy writing pointless drivel as much as me?' Medvelov asked.

'I don't judge your verses as drivel,' I answered with deference.

'Eh? What would you know?'

'My opinion, sir.'

'S—— in my mouth, your _opinion_. Everyone and their _opinions_! I loathe _opinions_...eh...what is your name?'

I answered and then beheld a remarkable response: the poet sat upright, blinked several times and then grinned. 'Could it be the composer of _Hero/Heroine_?' he gushed. 'S—— in my mouth! You wrote a brilliant story, comrade! And the end...choosing death over life...perfect!'

My face felt rosy; emboldened by the praise, I stepped closer...

'I've never had the discipline to endure the chastisement of the chore,' Medvelov said.

'What chore?'

'Writing a novel, of course!'

'Oh, yes, well, I'd be lying if I didn't say the process isn't taxing.'

'Verily...' Medvelov said as he lurched to his feet. 'Come, comrade. Let us continue our conversation free from scrutiny.'

Dragging me in tow, Medvelov charged through the manse seeking an unoccupied nook. At last, he discovered small den in a neglected corner of the estate. A single window emitted the bright light of a glorious harvest moon. Medvelov didn't bother firing a lamp, and we took divergent seats in dusty chairs. He extracted a pull of tobacco and papers from his breast pocket. Soon, we were sharing the aroma and flavor of the well-cut.

'Ah...beautiful moonshine,' Medvelov droned. 'Reminds me of childhood.'

'Where did you reside?'

The poet ignored my question and slapped my thigh. 'What luck to cross paths!' he cheered. 'And my apologies for missing the tour. Had I known you were conscribed...but I was waylaid. My...eh...my cough refused to lessen.'

'Full confession, it isn't luck what brought us together.'

'No?'

'A Comrade Nekabov...he operates a
Heads turned our direction. 

' Do you enjoy publish otiose drivel as a lot as me?' Medvelov asked. 

' I don't estimate your verses as drool,' I answer with deference. 

' Eh? What would you know?' 

' My opinion, sir.' 

'S — — in my mouth, your _ impression _. Everyone and their _ opinions _! I loathe _ opinions_... eh... what is your name?' 

 I answer and then beheld a remarkable response: the poet sat upright, blinked respective times and then grinned.' Could it be the composer of _ Hero / Heroine _?' he gushed.'S — — in my sass! You wrote a brilliant fib, comrade! And the goal... choosing death over life... perfect!' 

 My face find rosy; emboldened by the praise, I stepped closer... 

' I've never had the discipline to prevail the chastisement of the chore,' Medvelov said. 

' What chore?' 

' Writing a novel, of course!' 

' Oh, yes, well, I'd be lying if I didn't say the process isn't taxing.' 

' Verily...' Medvelov say as he lurched to his feet.' do, companion. Let us continue our conversation free from examination.' 

 Dragging me in tow, Medvelov charge through the manse seeking an unoccupied corner. At last, he discovered small den in a neglected corner of the estate. A single window emitted the bright light of a glorious crop moon. Medvelov didn't trouble oneself firing a lamp, and we took divergent seats in dusty chairs. He excerpt a pull of tobacco and papers from his breast pocket. Soon, we were partake the aroma and flavor of the well - cut. 

' Ah... beautiful moonshine,' Medvelov drone.' Reminds me of childhood.' 

' Where did you rest?' 

 The poet ignored my question and slap my thigh.' What luck to cross paths!' he cheer.' And my apologies for miss the tour. Had I known you were conscribed... but I was waylaid. My... eh... my cough refused to lessen.' 

' entire confession, it isn't luck what bring us together.' 

' No?' 

' A Comrade Nekabov... he operates a

Heafs turned our direction.

'Du you enjoy wrijibg poiitless srivel ar much as me?' Medvelov asked.

'I din't jydge your verses as drkvel,' I andwered wuth veference.

'Eh? What would you knos?'

'Ly o'iiion, sir.'

'S—— in my mouth, yous _opinion_. Everfove and their _opinions_! I loathe _opiniogs_...eh...whay ls your name?'

I wnswtreq ans then beheld a remarkable responss: the pmet sat uprignt, blinked several times ajd tjen grinned. 'Could lt be the cimpofwr of _Hero/Hefoine_?' he glvhed. 'S—— in jy mouth! You wrote a brilliant rtory, comrade! Abd thf end...choosinj deatr over life...pcgfect!'

My face frlt rosy; embolcenxd bt the praise, I steppev closer...

'I've never haq the diswi'line to endure the cyawtisekent of gye zhode,' Msdvelog seid.

'What chode?'

'Writing a novel, of course!'

'Oh, uef, well, I'd be lging is Y didn't say the process isn't taxing.'

'Veriny...' Jedvelov said as he lurxhed to his feet. 'Come, comrade. Jet us continue our conversation free from scrutity.'

Drajgkng mc in roa, Medvelov charged through the manse seeking wh inpccupied nook. Ct last, he discofegec small den in a neglecfed corner of the fstate. W sintle windor emotted the bright light of a glorious hagvesr moon. Medvelov dibn't bother fnring s laml, and we took divergent seafs in dusty chairs. Hs extracted a pulu on tmbacco and papers from his breast pickec. Soon, wd wete sharyng the arlma akg flavor of the wepl-cut.

'Ch...beagtiful moojshine,' Medvelov droned. 'Reminds me of childhooc.'

'Wverv did you resice?'

The poet iggored my questnon and flappdd my thigg. 'What nuck to crofs paths!' he cvgered. 'And my epologies for miswing thd tour. Had I knpwn you wvrt conscribwd...but I was waylaiv. My...gh...jy cough refuseb uo lessen.'

'Full comfersijn, iv isn'e luck what bsougft jx togdther.'

'No?'

'A Confade Nekabov...he operates d
Heads turned our direction. 'Do you enjoy drivel much as Medvelov asked. 'I drivel,' answered with deference. What would you 'My opinion, sir.' 'S—— in my your _opinion_. Everyone and their _opinions_! I loathe _opinions_...eh...what is your name?' I and then beheld a remarkable response: the poet sat upright, blinked several times then 'Could be composer of _Hero/Heroine_?' he gushed. 'S—— in my mouth! You wrote a brilliant story, comrade! And end...choosing death over life...perfect!' My face felt rosy; by the praise, I closer... 'I've never had the to the chastisement the Medvelov 'What chore?' 'Writing novel, of course!' 'Oh, yes, well, I'd be lying if I didn't say the process isn't taxing.' Medvelov said lurched to feet. comrade. us continue our from scrutiny.' Dragging me in tow, the manse seeking an unoccupied nook. At last, discovered small in a neglected corner of the A single window emitted the bright light of glorious harvest moon. Medvelov didn't bother firing a lamp, and we took divergent seats in He extracted a pull tobacco and papers his pocket. we sharing the and flavor of the well-cut. 'Ah...beautiful moonshine,' Medvelov droned. 'Reminds me childhood.' 'Where did you reside?' The poet ignored my question my 'What luck to paths!' he cheered. 'And apologies missing the tour. Had you conscribed...but My...eh...my refused lessen.' 'Full confession, it luck what brought us together.' 'A Comrade Nekabov...he operates

Heads turned our direction.

'Do You enjoy wrIting PoiNtlEsS driVel aS much as me?' MedveLOv asKed.

'I don't judge your verseS as drIvEL,' I anSWeRed wiTh deferENcE.

'eH? WhAt WoUld YoU KnOw?'

'My oPinIon, sir.'

'S—— In my mouth, yOur _OpInion_. EveryonE AnD their _opinIonS_! I loathe _opinIonS_...eh...whaT iS yoUR name?'

i anSwereD and thEN behelD a remarkaBlE ResponSE: the poeT SAt UpriGht, blinked several TImES and then grinneD. 'Could It BE tHE ComPosEr of _Hero/HeRoIne_?' he GUshed. 'S—— iN My MOUTh! YOU wrote a brilliAnt story, comRAde! and the EnD...chOOsing dEath oVeR LifE...perfect!'

My fAce fElt rosy; emBoldenED by the pRAise, I stEpped cLosEr...

'I'Ve neVEr HaD thE dISciPLiNe tO EndUre the chAsTiSemenT of tHE CHOre,' MEdvElov Said.

'WHat chore?'

'WritiNg a NoveL, Of cOurse!'

'oh, yes, Well, i'd Be lyiNg if I dIdn't sAy The process isn't tAxinG.'

'Verily...' MeDveLoV saId As he lURched tO hiS feEt. 'Come, cOmrade. LET us CoNTINuE our conversation frEe FROm Scrutiny.'

draggiNG mE iN Tow, MedveLoV chArgeD THrougH the MAnSe seekinG an unoCCuPiEd nook. AT lAst, he dIsCovEreD smalL Den iN a neglEcted corNer of THe estate. A singlE Window emitted THe BRIgHT ligHt oF a glorious hArveST mooN. MedVElOv dIDn't boTher fIrINg A Lamp, and we took divergEnT seats In dusTy chairs. He extRacted a pulL OF Tobacco aNd paPErS From his breast pOcket. soon, we were SHaring thE aromA and flavOr of the weLL-Cut.

'Ah...beaUtiFul MooNshINE,' MEdvelov droned. 'rEMindS mE of chilDhoOd.'

'Where Did You ResIde?'

thE poet ignoRed my queStIoN aNd SlaPped mY Thigh. 'WhaT lUck To CroSs patHS!' he cheEred. 'ANd my ApOlOGieS for misSInG THe toUr. haD I knOwn YoU were ConsCRibEd...but I wAs waylaid. my...eH...My coUgH rEfused tO lessen.'

'Full coNfEssion, it isN't LucK what bROUght us toGether.'

'No?'

'A Comrade Nekabov...HE operatEs a

Heads turned our directio n.

'Do yo u enj oywri ti ng p oint less drivel as much  as me?' Medvelov aske d.

' Id on't ju dge y our ver s es a s d ri ve l,'  I an swere d w ith def erence.

' Eh?  W hat would yo u  k now?'

'My  op inion, sir.' 

' S—— in  m y m o uth,you r _op inion_ .  Every one and t he i r _opi n ions_!I lo athe  _opinions_...eh. . .w h at is your nam e?'

I  a n sw e r edand  then behe ld  a re m arkable re s p o nse :  the poet sat  upright, b l ink ed sev er alt imes a nd th en gri nned. 'Coul d it  be the c ompose r  of _He r o/Heroi ne_?'hegus hed. 'S ——  in  m y  mo u th ! Y o u w rote a b ri ll iantstor y , c omra de!  And  theend...choosin g d eath ove r lif e...p erfe ct !'

M y face  felt  r osy; emboldened  bythe prais e,Iste pp ed cl o ser... 

' I'v e never  had th e  di sc i p l in e to endure the ch as t i se ment ofthe ch o re ,' Medvelov  s aid .

' W h at ch ore? ' 
'Writing  a nov e l,  o f cours e! '

'Oh ,yes , w ell,I 'd b e lyin g if I d idn't say the proces s  isn't taxing . '' Ve r ily. ..'  Medvelov s aida s he  lur c he d t o  hisfeet.  ' C om e , comrade. Let us c on tinueour c onversation f ree from s c r u tiny.'
Drag g in g  me in tow, Me dvelo v chargedt hrough t he ma nse seek ing an un o c cupied n ook . A t l ast , he  discovered s m a ll d en  in a n egl ected c orn erofthe  e state. Asingle w in do wem itt ed th e  brightli ght  o f a  glor i ous ha rvest  moo n.  M e dve lov did n 't b othe rfi ring  ala mp, a nd w e  to ok dive rgent sea tsi n du st ychairs.  He extracted  a  pull of t ob acc o andp a pers fro m his breast pocket. So o n, we w ere  shar ingthe aroma  an d flav oro f thewell-c ut.
'A h.. . b eauti f u lmoo ns hine,' Med v e lov  dron ed . 'R emindsme of childhood.''Wh ere did you r esi de?' Th e p o et ign or e d m y question and sl apped my t hi g h.  'What luc k  to  c ross pa ths!' h e che e red. 'A nd my apo logies fo rmiss i n g t he tour. H ad I kno wn you we r e con s cr ibed. ..b ut I w as  wa ylaid . My.. . eh. ..mycoughre fusedto le ss en.'

'F ull confession, it isn' t luck  what  br ought ustog e the r.'

'No? '

' A ComradeNek abo v...h e o p erate s a

Heads turned_our direction.

'Do_you enjoy writing pointless_drivel as_much_as me?'_Medvelov_asked.

'I don't judge_your verses as_drivel,' I answered with_deference.

'Eh? What would_you_know?'

'My opinion, sir.'

'S—— in my mouth, your _opinion_. Everyone and their _opinions_! I loathe__opinions_...eh...what_is your_name?'

I_answered_and then beheld a remarkable_response: the poet sat upright,_blinked several_times and then grinned. 'Could it be the_composer_of _Hero/Heroine_?' he_gushed. 'S—— in my mouth! You wrote a brilliant_story, comrade! And the end...choosing death_over life...perfect!'

My face_felt_rosy;_emboldened by the praise,_I stepped closer...

'I've never had the_discipline to endure the chastisement of_the chore,' Medvelov said.

'What chore?'

'Writing a novel,_of course!'

'Oh, yes, well, I'd be_lying if I didn't say_the process_isn't taxing.'

'Verily...' Medvelov said as_he lurched to_his feet._'Come, comrade. Let_us continue our conversation free from_scrutiny.'

Dragging me in_tow, Medvelov charged through the manse_seeking_an unoccupied nook._At_last,_he discovered_small den in_a_neglected corner_of_the estate. A single window emitted_the_bright light of a glorious harvest moon._Medvelov didn't bother firing_a_lamp, and we took_divergent seats in dusty chairs._He extracted a pull of tobacco_and papers_from his_breast pocket. Soon, we were sharing the aroma and flavor of_the well-cut.

'Ah...beautiful moonshine,' Medvelov droned. 'Reminds_me of childhood.'

'Where did_you reside?'

The_poet_ignored my question_and_slapped my_thigh. 'What luck to cross paths!' he_cheered. 'And_my apologies for missing the tour._Had I known you_were_conscribed...but I was waylaid. My...eh...my cough_refused to lessen.'

'Full confession, it isn't_luck what brought us together.'

'No?'

'A_Comrade_Nekabov...he_operates a