Every weekday morning, I walk the right, left, right, right route to my office. This day was only different in the common way – different in that the weather had shifted. Comrat is transitioning to oncoming fall.
The Gagauz Artist Fate Made
Saturday Morning Lunch
I was sitting on concrete with lunch and a black cat when a man sauntered up to our front door. He called my host mother’s name, and I leaned out of the shadow of the summer house to summon his attention: “Anna Nikolaevna’s not home right now.”
The first thing that struck me was his smile, replete with silver grills. The second thing was his warmth.