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Poem	I started up the engine and I lingered. Where should I go? The night was fine, I figured. The bonnet trembled like a nervous hound. I shivered. Night lit up the houses around. The Balzac age, I felt its burning pain, Chilled to the bone, I couldn't hold my own. The age of balsam wine mixed with champaign!.. So I looked up, and wound the window down. They were young, two pretty-pretty fellows, wearing fur coats, looking slightly careless. "You're free, Miss, aren't you ? Care for delight? Five hundred now. One thousand for the night". I flared up. They took me for a prostitute. My heart was jumping. What an attitude! They want you, you're young, you're a whore! Indignant, I said "Yes", instead of "No". The other one, so "sweet and pure", swaying his hips, looking aside, said: "Have you got a friend, as rich as you are? I, too, will take it. A thousand for the night". The brutes! I thought I'd better vanish! I stepped upon the gas and left the site. My heart, however, jumped for joy and anguish! "Five hundred now. One thousand for the night". © Copyright Alec Vagapov's translation
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