[Tsop]

Boris Kocheyshvili
 Robinson?

Here, I thought, to whom was like Dima. Far from home, in a strange Moscow. Who knows how it all: build a house, make wine, cook the food. But asked about Robinson - and the similarities end: the Robinson and his gun, and ammunition, and a needle and thread, and an ax, and the food is at hand, and the trees for the home. Dima had golden hands - and everything. The resemblance ends. In a strange city. From the little that you depend on. Nothing is impossible. Workshop can not. Be a free stone-cutters can not. All organizations against one man. Robinson had a good time in a strange land. Dima died.
Cursed urban art. Beckons. Beckoned and Dima.
At the Pushkin Museum on me most of all are archaic tombstones. Carvers raised monuments to the dead and living next to people living and dying. The cemetery was a museum. Master craftsman and went hand in hand, in the same masons. All disturbed.
Dima was also impaired. Big, strong, handsome man who looked like a bandit with a tender and heart disease.
What kind of world in which you can not help themselves or a close?
Relatives who came to Dima, as if asking: why? What say? Guiltily art? Doctors? We?
He wanted all
fix the fix
stone crushed to correct
grapes
fix the red house and a bad heart and broken walls and ceilings broken heart has broken where
corrected grapes recall
Remember, he wanted all
correct
correct
  a stone.