WE WOUND UP going to some kind of art cinema in Tallinn’s Old Town, you know the kind, with walls painted black, with folding chairs. Igrayne likes to wave her hands around when she talks, and then puts them on her hips, to feign disgust and outrage. She has long, light-colored hair and is not afraid of donning a miniskirt. I remember where I met her. It was at a festival.
Igrayne’s hair used to be some natural color. Now it’s? Something else. Pink? Platinum? Bottle yellow? It’s fun to watch Igrayne communicate. Her violent words spurt out like free jazz, peppered with slang, salted with broken English. She thought the film was “terrible shit eks ole“, and was annoyed for having to even endure it, but I told her that it had some merits. Then we had a wet kiss and it seemed to resolve her internal conflicts about the setting and scenery.
After that, we rode home together in a yellow school bus, during which time Igrayne went down on me. We were like two cats, really. Just like two cats. But that is already another story.
north! 