Sochi Diary 2

Lacanian Scraps

I am entering my final day in Sochi. I walked the docks, gazing into the large waves that came crashing onto the land from the Black sea. I spent hours looking for a place to piss. I became friends with the dogs, and sat with them for more time than I should have, until, finally, wandering into a hookah lounge.

I met a group of people, all of whom spoke clear English, and we shared perverted jokes for several hours. The string guitar played in the background. He was wearing a white dress shirt, unbuttoned, with his chest exposed. I think he was going for that Don Juan look. As for me, I’m no Don Juan; I simply search the world for what remains of love. I’m still convinced that it’s not possible anymore to fall in love. Generally speaking, love remains the least of possibilities.

A woman sat beside…

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By penwithlit

Freelance writer and radio presenter

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