Traveling Companions

Friedrich Gorenstein

1988

I lowered the window more and let the wind wash my face. As often happens when you stand at the window of a fast-moving train, a speck of dirt flew into my eye, and both eyes began to tear.

I had lived in Berdichev for four years when I was an adolescent. I’d also spent eleven years in Rostov-on-Don, and have been in Moscow for the past fifteen…

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