Ulysses, or a little love in the dog world
One evening in the kitchen, I told my daughter the story of my very first love, and suddenly my daughter says: “Write her, I will tell my grandchildren, even the face to you.” And, having given me a task, it leaves with Dovlatov’s book, and I stay with a sagging jaw and I think if I am ready to become a grandmother, if I (according to the sensation, and not according to passport) are less than it now, and less than it was when he appeared in my life.