She was spared for a few minutes, before the sunlight came in her bedroom window and hit her square on the face. If she had any energy, she would pull...down the shade, but she had none.She tried to roll over… Trying to descend into the soft fluffy world of her bed, where her hangover would not exist. But it was no use. She heard the creaking of floorboards. The muttering of voices. The banging of the heater pipes. The scent of coffee brewing, giving her the only pleasure. But the reality of the. Small boys ran in and out playing games of tag or petty crime. The sun was hot and cast dark shadows into the back of shops. Eyes peered out of the darkness. Alexis took us to this sunny café for a little luncheon and we talked of her expatriate life and drank wine. She was dazzling in her youth and richness. Her old European money, which on one hand she rejected with Marxist philosophy, and on the other, bought her the lifestyle of the bohemian artist, and her artist lover, the blond Russian.. More

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