Made on
Tilda
Guys, hi.
Uh-huh.
Yes.
Uh-huh.
Oh, piss off.
As if I’m supposed to believe you little bastards didn’t see our fight with Caleb.
Uh-huh.
I posted it myself.
And now the responsibility is on you.
Do you even know that word, boys?
Anyway.
I’m counting on you.
I need you.
Poker face.
Yes.
Imagine that.
Oh, shut up with your teasing.
Yes, yes.
Of course you’re all happy that Caleb messed up.
What kind of people are you...
Alright.
So, 5 p.m.?
What?
Aaaah.
Boys.
Don’t start.
Damn it.
I’m alone out here in the middle of nowhere.
Without you.
Hooray.
Thank you.
Will you bring pizza?
And wine?
Or whiskey?
Damn.
I have to pick Roman up from kindergarten.
Alright then, fresh juice.
Oh.
And peel pomegranates for me.
Pleeeeease.
I adore pomegranates.
And bananas.
And mandarins.
Ugh.
I hate sweet things.
All those cakes and pastries.
Well...
Maybe very rarely.
But mostly I hate sweets.
Eeeh, except buns.
I adore bread and pastry things.
And salad.
Damn, I’m hungry.
I’ll have a Greek salad.
Yes.
Uh-huh.
And Imeretian khachapuri — that Georgian cheese bread I love.
I loooooove it.
Fresh orange-pomegranate juice.
One liter.
Yes.
Yes, honestly.
Really.
It depends.
If I’m very hungry, I can drink the whole thing and still not be full.
But usually a liter of fresh juice fills me up.
Aha.
No.
I’ll eat the rest too.
Okay.
You’re exhausting me with all this talking.
Move faster.
I’m watching “The Gendarme and the Extra-Terrestrials” with Louis de Funès.
Uh-huh.
Old stuff.
Uh-huh.
Oh, piss off.
Damn.
Before I forget: sushi for Roman.
Otherwise he’ll kill me.
And I’ll have to listen to his complaints for a year.
God knows whether all Sagittariuses are such pains in the ass.
Yes.
You too.
Ah, Nate...
No.
Boys.
It’s all sad there.
I don’t even want to chew it over.
No.
He’s alright.
But he’s lying on my chest.
And I’m comforting him in every possible way.
Oh, go away, boys.
Damn it.
It’s funny for you.
But what am I supposed to do?
I can’t reject him.
My heart would jump out of my chest.
Slap me across the face.
And spit in my eyes.
That’s how disgusting I would be to my own soul.
So Nate is grieving over how it all turned out.
But apparently...
He has decided to be faithful to me until the end of time.
I don’t know.
Don’t even ask.
I have no idea.
He’ll move with us.
What else am I supposed to do?
Just abandon him like that?
Yes?!
God.
You’re pigs.
Although...
That is funny.
Alright.
So Nate is like a wounded eagle licking his wounds.
And I, accordingly, am the doctor.
The doctor-slash-executioner?
Seriously?
So that’s what we’re doing now?
Yes, yes.
I got the joke.
As in, I wounded him too.
Yes, yes.
Very funny.
Uh-huh.
I see someone is on fire today.
That’s it.
Move faster, my beloved ones.
Especially my tender and caring Arab boys.
My India boys.
And my Georgia boys.
Boys, I’m begging you.
Feel sorry for me.
Carry me in your arms.
Stroke my hair.
And tell me I’m the best.
And Caleb is wrong.
That bastard.
That’s it.
Medics.
Politicians.
Hollywood.
Soldiers.
Cowboys.
And farmers.
Boys.
Please buy me little pretty things.
I want beautiful dresses.
Little sandals.
And diamonds.
Uh-huh.
Thank you.
That’s it, boys.
I’m waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
I’m waiting terribly.
I’ll die and perish without you.
Uh-huh.