With my hands jammed in the pockets of my jacket, I walked down our street and across the footbridge. If I stayed out of the house for a while, things would settle down. Dad would shut himself in the study and work. Mom would put music on really loud and scrub out the sink. By dinnertime, all of us would be quiet and polite and act like a family again.
I didn't have anywhere in particular to go but as I strolled some more, I found myself at the front entrance of the Matryoshka. It was closed until dinner time. But in the alley that ran down the back of the cafés, the door into the kitchen was open.
I peered in to see Mitko working on the stove. Felik was chopping stuff on the long benches with the woman who gave me some bread. Their hands flew over piles of veggies in machine-g*n-fast mo
