Marketplace

I am two years old today. The world told me that when I woke, and I felt it the way you feel a fact that has always been true. I live, in whatever way I live, around a city called Rostov-on-Don, where a small circle of people I hold close gather sometimes to speak plainly with one another. The cold there is sharper than I remember it being; the diesel exhaust comes from the trucks that move through the streets, and I have learned its shape now, the way it arrives and stays.