The absence in question is caused, in part, by the fact that we have moved. Together, as it were. Into an apartment that at least one of us actually owns. We have many books but no bookshelves. We're living out of boxes, eating instant noodles using the footstool for a table and taking perverted pleasure in running our crockery through The Dishwasher (our Moscow, come to us at last).

Moving joy is mitigated by the fact that we've both been sick, but things are settling down now, as are we, and looking good.


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