Like a fading photograph
With each passing day, I feel like Ekaterina is a photograph fading in the sun, soon to wrinkle and fall in bits to the ground, soon never to have existed at all. I'll be blasted if I can get these Russian-language detective agencies to respond. Perhaps I will charter a flight with Todd once my language skills are up to snuff. I could sell the Austin-Healey, that should set me up for a few months or more abroad. Ah, that's just the thing! I shall immerse myself in the local culture for a few months first, to get my feet down. Perhaps in the next town over from hers. That's top shelf, that one. Must be all the fish I've been eating. Tonight, caviar and cabbage soup!