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Aug 14th, 2014
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  1. **Unattended**
  2.  
  3. Hi.
  4.  
  5. Memory is a funny thing. When I was a girl, my father and I lived in Russia. So here’s what I remember. An address: Saint Petersburg, 7th Line of Vasilievsky Island, 18. A precise date: July 31, 1998. I remember the boy—he was 25, I think, but strangely enough he didn’t seem like a grown-up even to my childish eyes, somehow he was “a boy” from the get go. I remember a storm brewing for three days straight and passing the city by the next morning. I remember what happened, although I don’t. I remember dad and his, erm, colleagues leaving the city soon afterwards.
  6.  
  7. There’s one thing I can’t remember though: did I really become infected then and there?
  8.  
  9. When a little girl meets a stranger, let alone a boy, she starts to imagine things—like what the two of them may have in common. I remember looking him in the eye and thinking: nothing, we have absolutely nothing in common!
  10.  
  11. I was wrong.
  12.  
  13. Father never allowed me to play in the street unattended since then. So why am I alone today?
  14.  
  15. Voronika,
  16. http://feverishfeeling.com
  17.  
  18. P. S. I feel like I’ll need this memory later. Or not. Maybe you’ve just read a couple pages from a girl-y diary. I think everyone agrees that’s enthralling reading.
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