I like the only advertising of coffee. And also — how to advertise cat food: cats, they are graceful, always worthy, are independent. I read somewhere — Siamese cat liked coffee. But the cat I have now is not. So coffee. However, on the shelves of her real fever. Coffee as an elixir of creativity, prices — as Leviathan gradusnik under his arm, he has a fever today.
No coffee in any way. And today I feel a kavovae deja vu, as if was twenty years younger. Now, however, it still does not disappear, she fever, she stunned — how to evaluate themselves, not to be mistaken? Not to pradeshavits. Coffee should be taken in the market, not to feed mode, as in the stores twice as much. And it must be German.
But all of a sudden broke twenty thousand in Velky turned into a pack of twenty-five, jumped to forty-five. Pay double the price? The stores also kavovyh got on the shelves, but we need to look like I was searching for some time in the village shops, of course, not arabica. And you start to realize that your neutrality temporary end: not to join, not to participate, not to obey the wishes of the mass, not to stand in line … Hurry! On packages of coffee changing price tags. Bypassing three-four stores and doing home "syalpo" — a few disparate varieties, which did not use before. Truth: finally a reason to buy "Black seed" for the Turks from the true Belarusian — from first to lasthis words on the pack all on home language. In this country very rare.
With coffee in the USSR we have never been good, bad harvests in Brazil looked like a heart attack. Our politburo never changed ideals, did not agree to concessions conscience not to release a couple of heavy tanks and fighter planes. Or even — at least one submarine to slightly overpay for coffee and to the Soviet people at least a little pleasantness before work? "It is only through our collective corpse, dear comrades!"
A friend once said, in your stories ever drink coffee. And it seemed so natural — you byaressya write and start with coffee, but otherwise nothing. What is surprising is when the characters as for the taste of life take smelling cup?
I looked "Dostoevsky", the new series, made Belarusian Hotinenko for the Russian audience. Fyodor somehow resembles very kinoshnaga Lenin and did as he slurped tea when he writes. No you coffee, sir. Balzac drank coffee a lot. Westerner Turgenev and Dostoevsky looks close to the comely European writer, but also from the gulls refuses.
Another friend, sometimes, like: how do you ever catch twice, saved? Indeed, this is what we call "pavturkay" and it was really more a literary game, although the coffee was really going on almost a luxury. Read in D.Savitskaga that Paris had to save. In my story about the printer from 1991 reminiscence: "I do not need to clean the jar with a spoon. On my worst day of the three-liter jar of coffee beans. Accumulated. Seems to me it is not necessary also to compare themselves with those Russian with Belarusian writer's name, escaped but vegetate in Paris … kryshuemy room, for which there is no pay. Finally, kavovy filter would get out of the garbage and sixth steamed. Feh. Apivki. "
There, the women I remember: the first is the last time we had to buy green, unroasted coffee. Also, the creative moment: to bring to the chocolate color. Since the summer of 1991, more memory was returning from vacation, almost empty pockets, and the dilemma — how Verkora or a pack of coffee? Outweighs the coffee.
In This year, and crop failure in Brazil then. And interestingly enough, I am writing a work where the protagonist distribute the crease in the collective chickens, butter and other redkastsi. He is interested only coffee — the deficit, one sees that the whole box has, however: "He's in a cold sweat, it's not coffee, not coffee, it's what the hell, this is, it seems, gunpowder, gunpowder although he never smelled. foolish dream. Coffee will always be missed, this is understandable as there is the Communist government, and it always will be, after all is not going anywhere, coffee calmly never buy. " Such fatalism. In short, "Do not feel sorry, chaps, gun powder", as the poet once said, our Maxim Tank.
Here you have: more recently coffee friends drove to Poland, where she was more expensive and worse. On the other hand, began a movement, it became more interesting, the plot was felt. Remember: start with coffee, and there Abbreviation our slavetnay broke the arms race, was carried to the cemetery. Yes, yes, even the leviathan is not eternal, dragons are also made decrepit, even if you listen to "Ministry of Health". Maybe bukmeykerskih offices already taking bets: will hold on to our up to finish? But I am interested in is the literature: grand finale, the Berlin Wall with penaplyastnyh cubes effectively collapsing at the same concert of Roger Votersa with friends, a man with a hammer peryts bust of the leader on the pavement, Brandenburskaya gate fireworks.
I still have interest in folk: Will the dragon devouring its scaly tail of despair? There is a belief in our places of ancient times. It will be an occasion to test — not superstition? It may not be the agony? But such conditions of the genre! The audience settled back. He has strong teeth, clearly. In the abbreviations have also been more than a nibble, there was nothing …
I put the point and went to make coffee, but I can hear yashchyk our reports: ordered prices rewind, coffee-tea, boasts, fifteen per cent, and no gvazdey! Wow, I think, really my text outdated and will again have to wait ten years of the crisis? Of course, when prices jumped more than one hundred percent, it will be as dead poultices, but a trifle — also a nice thing. I think so, and I go to the store where my favorite glass cabinet with a lock, which show different Arabica. And I feel that my face kisnet: Finnish "President", "one hundred percent Arabica", failed to comply with the order — for 250 grams now wants to get forty two thousand, and yesterday would only twenty-five … In yashchyka in Leviathan your life in coffee, my boy, is another.