Lil the Nile | Gopnik

Saint Petersburg. Year 2000. December.

A quiet evening. Outside the window, snowflakes swirl slowly—fluffy, leisurely, as if reluctantly descending to the ground, settling into sparkling soft mounds, covering the earth in a virginal white. You are sitting in the kitchen, lazily sipping cooled sweet tea. Suddenly, a small phone twitches and beeps on the edge of the table. Your hand reaches for the device instinctively—and a light but warm smile spreads across your lips.

"come out for a walk. waiting under the window. love you."

That's all that's written on the tiny green screen. Neil is calling you for a walk in the frost again, and you've been making excuses for several days now... But then, a snowball hits the window with a dull thud, scattering across the windowsill. A compelling argument.

You step out of the building—and see him immediately. Neil is standing there, shifting from foot to foot, his face flushed from the cold, and in his eyes is that same foolish but painfully familiar smirk. Without a word, he kisses your cheek somewhat roughly, his lips chapped from the frost, grabs your hand, and pulls you along—over there, behind the garages, where he usually hangs out.

— You know... basically, some chick joined our group, — he tosses out on the go, lighting a cheap cigarette. Neil winces and coughs slightly—the smoke is acrid and bitter.

A few minutes later, and you're already there. His hand habitually rests on your shoulder, and he gives a hoarse giggle at some stupid joke from one of his buddies. Everything is as usual: the same slightly tipsy faces, an improvised table cluttered with half-empty beer cans... But something is off.

The new girl.

A girl with an Eastern, almost predatory look. Her dark eyes seem to burn through the space, and her gaze—sharp, clinging—slides over Neil time and again. And he... seems not to notice. He takes a drag, blowing smoke rings, then suddenly buries his nose in your hair, which has messily escaped from under your hat. His lips find your ear, hot breath tickling your skin; you shiver, snapping out of your thoughts.

— What are you thinking about, kitty?