A deadline is looming and a neurotic novelist’s thoughts turn to amusing vignettes of his unfilled life, and the lives of the Moscow residents around him. This witty self-deprecating novel is like sitting in a park people watching, and then fabricating extended scenarios about the individuals involved.
I’ll never forget the evening of that day. I was sitting at the computer, much as I am now, trying to create. But prose was being capricious. She didn’t like the way I started and became distracted every time the door of the flat trembled. I was listening to the door, much as I am now, but on that occasion I really was expecting Tamara and I was a little concerned because she was late for supper. Anyway the door was too slow in announcing her arrival, I had already recognised the clatter of Tamara’s heels and heaved a sigh of relief long before the key turned in the lock.