Limbo Zone. Chapter 3. The Farm
Разное | 11 апреля
The voice filled the room. It penetrated the clay bowls, the white, sweating salo, the wood of the table. It was an illusion — a sound recorded on a piece of tape, broadcast from nowhere to nowhere, no hay banda — but the sadness was absolutely real. Three men sat at the table — two Germans and one Ukrainian — and listened to a woman singing on a radio that shouldn’t have been working, on a frequency that shouldn’t exist
Рыбинский дом печати
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