35 minutes

It’s 8:25 in the morning. I sit on a derelict bench at a bus-stop in the very heart of Almaty. I’m too early for my work (some brochure translating, nothing exciting really), so I sit outside and watch the people being swallowed then spit out by busses and trolleys, eager to get to work on time. I watch them jump off through the ad-flashing automatic doors, dump their tickets either onto the ground or into a trash can (Man, it all depends on the level of ecological awareness really, and since a large poster above reads: “Let’s keep our city clean and blah-blah-blah”, the number of the aware ones is scarce.) Anyway. Some uniques here pocket their haggard tickets carefully. “Maybe they are hoping to reuse them?”- I wonder...1

The nine o’clock deadline nears, the human flood grows wilder and I no longer have time to ponder at such things. My attention is switched as I hear the owners of some elite cars quarrel over a parking spot nearby some elite shop. Despite their elite garments and elitely tended faces, their talk can hardly be called of elite standard, especially now with it being generously spiced with swearwords. In the heat of dispute I turn away to answer a question concerning the whereabouts of some street – it’s a typical question here in Almaty, as the city is huge and its street names are constantly on the move. I turn back to see the brawlers part; the looks on their first-class faces clearly tell you that their elite pride had been badly wounded.2

I peep at my watch – it’s only 8:45. Ohh, nothing can be worse than waiting and catching up. I search for another source of entertainment. Thank goodness! Two young women, my age probably, perch nearby, all head-and-toes absorbed in some raving discussion, their faces are alight with excitement, their voices ring with notes of UN-secretary-styled indignation. I shift a bit and get myself engaged in the ancient art of eavesdropping. I sort of expect to hear sophisticated views on some recent economical developments, maybe outraged remarks on the way the political situation tenses in the world, or at the very least something like “what-on-earth-do-the-government-think-they-are-doing” and et cetera. But my elated hopes fail as some snatches of what they are talking about reach my ears: “You can’t even imagine what a disgrace it was with my nails done like that. It was a disaster, a complete fiasco. They didn’t match my outfit at all. I thought I’d strangle the stupid girl. All the world knows…” 3

I turned away again, slightly disappointed this time, and checked my watch – 10 minutes to go. So I thought better of hearing the rest of the nail dilemma, stood on the pavement next to the bus stop and watched the passers-by instead. But their stream was pretty homogeneous – nothing to get interested with. Until…until she appeared from the black gaping mouth of the underground walk. A woman in a scarlet mini-dress and high heels to match, perfectly lipsticked, with an artistic mess for a hairstyle. She walked swinging her hips slightly, beating a hypnotizing rhythm with her heels. She had a figure too, splendid in the right places. I turned to look closely but not at her, rather at the many men of all ages gloating at her with their eyes. I thought then that if one could eat you up just by looking, she would’ve been stripped fleshless within nanoseconds. 4

She was a real…oh, my cell watch peeked once excitedly, displaying 9:00 and I immediately entered the badly lit hall and went up the steep stairs to the second floor, secretly regretting a bit that I can’t really walk just the way she did – like a carefree woman, like bottled aphrodisiac, like a bloody peri. Oh, well…5