A Killing Winter
“But in a Kyrgyz winter, that can be almost any time before noon and after three. Out of habit, I reached over and checked that the Yarygin was still on the bedside table. A chair was propped against the door handle; I don’t trust any of the flimsy locks in the kind of places I can afford. The guesthouse was not far from the city centre, just off Ak-Burinskya Street. I’d stayed there before, and the price was right, if you’re law: free. Sure, I might have had to strong-arm an alkash if he’d been... causing trouble, but it hadn’t been a problem so far.
My piss smelt sour, and I could taste the pickled vegetables that had accompanied the chai I’d drunk while Saltanat made do with vodka. I remembered getting some straight answers from Saltanat, which made a refreshing change, until the tiredness creeping up on me slammed my head down on to the table. What I didn’t remember was how I’d got back from the bar, exhaustion wiping my memory clean as effectively as a bottle of the good stuff would have done.MoreLess
My piss smelt sour, and I could taste the pickled vegetables that had accompanied the chai I’d drunk while Saltanat made do with vodka. I remembered getting some straight answers from Saltanat, which made a refreshing change, until the tiredness creeping up on me slammed my head down on to the table. What I didn’t remember was how I’d got back from the bar, exhaustion wiping my memory clean as effectively as a bottle of the good stuff would have done.MoreLess
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