Uncle Vova showed the people his riverboat cruise.
The deck expanding hundreds of meters.
Plush restaurants boutique shops. A couple walked from one end to the other holding hands and seeking an identity of themselves at theit footsteps clacked and mouths murmured.
Over timber that wouldn't differ from the planks in their coffins.
They navigating through people smiling at some, nodding at others and even making room on their faces for the odd grimace.
Vova was steering the ship his bog old babyface had a burning cigar protruding from it. His two older friends were riddled with cancer their names were Nostos and Algos and they were not even Russian, they were Greek. I think Vladimir just pretended to understand them.
He veered slightly to let another oncoming ship pass by. Vova and his companions remarked on the robust Birch copses clinging to the river banks. Like thousands of skeletons littered with tiny black burnmarks. Standing up to never be forgotten.
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