You Won't Get My Chicks, Sibiryakov!

Once we were blood enemies, but life decided to separate us on opposite sides so that we could meet again in the same place, at the same hour.

Let us call it that we’ve grown older, but the foolishness in our heads hasn’t diminished. Now we need to figure out whether it’s worth digging up the past—or whether it’s better to leave everything as it is. In this incredible Siberian summer!

***

– Hey! Hey, do you hear me? Aoo! Fiu! – and a bright, deafening whistle echoes over the raspberries.
– Deaf, are you?

And then I realize my patience has snapped so loudly and sharply that it even makes my ears ring for a moment. And it’s all because I can’t stand it when someone whistles at me. Especially men—and especially...

– Up your own ass, whistle, idiot! – I hiss at him, furious like an angry cat.

– What, you’ve gone out of your mind, little thing? – this whistler even flinches back from the fence.

– When was the last time your mouth was cleaned with soap? – he rumbles in his bass voice over the raspberries.