There are a lot of cars here.
“Pfff! Monuments!”
“They’re just for show!”
“Monuments!”
“They all come out in the evening too, they’re drinking rakiya and smoking cigarettes, and they gather around them, looking up their skirts and comparing who is the bash maestera and knows the most about the engines….”
“Idiots!”
“They don’t know anything! They’re just drinking rakiya! And that’s all they should do because they are good at that!”
“Pff! Villagers!
Villagers with cars!
Even worse!”
Laughing loudly now, bent over the bench…
“And… then…on the weekends…”
The words choppy in her effort to control her laughter…
“they come out and they wash them!”
“with.. with.. their water and with their sponges in the sunshine, oh gosh! And they work oh so hard for hours.. but they can’t ever get the the bottom of the tires never get clean……
“You know why?..huh?”
“Because they never move!
Never!
See that blue Lada? It hasn’t moved since that tree was put there!
They’re just for show, and for some sort of man form of worshiping..”
“Pff.. Men.”
She looks at me, takes a drag of her cigarette, then looks back out over the cars in front of us, exhaling….
“Run from them.”