Nestyda Page #3

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-Mom, have you got a new phone?

-No. Why?

There are fewer numbers. Four.

There are nine numbers there,

just like always.

No, there are four.

Let me see.

Jesus, I'm so stupid.

-No, you're not.

-That's my PIN.

What's a PIN? Is it short

for something, like VIP?

Yeah, it is.

A Pretty Imposing Nose.

Let's go.

Dad, there's some boy

stuck in here.

Here, in the slide.

-Do you hear me?

-What happened?

Hello, excuse me,

my son seems to be stuck.

Hello?

Hi.

Hey, scout,

what are you doing here?

Oh, I see.

It looks bad, mommy.

That boy is really stuck good.

We're going to have to cut it open.

-What?

-Yeah.

Nah.

Hey, I got something

better for you.

Have you ever seen

your mom this small?

-Come down!

-You come up!

When the windows of the first tram

flash their usual signals

to the curtains of my room.

And the sunrise comes

to press the doorknobs

on the keys of accordions,

tunes takes wing.

Someone played under the roof.

Someone was laughing at it...

What's wrong?

Excuse me?

I'm looking at your nose.

You have an amazing nose.

-Yeah?

-Honestly.

-It really suits you.

-Well thank you.

Gorgeous.

My bathtub is full

of violet violets.

It was like that every morning.

And someone unseen, said,

Let the guy have his fun.

Another told his wife though:

A weird attitude towards hygiene.

Because she'll lose her health.

Upstairs the other one played on.

To all the tenants.

Like the wish "break a leg"

he was sending us a message...

-Bye.

-Bye.

Wait.

What if I get lost?

You're a big boy.

Why would you get lost?

One moment.

So do I.

Now hardly anyone will know,

who lived back then

under the eaves

of an old house in Karln.

He just left one morning,

from the flat

that never had a bathtub,

and smelled, at best, of wine.

With the things he played to us,

he lied,

they all said.

l, however bad the weather,

still sing:

My bathtub is full of violets,

my bathtub is full of violets.

My bathtub is full

of violet violets.

-I wrote a poem.

-About that Hungarian?

I don't understand why you don't

sort these things out in a brothel.

Wait, you don't understand.

I'm 42. And I wrote a poem.

And how big is your mortgage?

Twenty thousand.

And you lease your car, too?

How many more times, do you think,

will you fall in love again?

How many more times will you hear

the cracking of shells?

I just don't want it

to be taken away.

-How much is it?

-The lease. Ten.

Has Marie ever offered

to pee on you?

How much did you make in TV?

Thirty thousand.

-And now?

-Probably twenty.

And how much do you want

to pay for Jakub?

At least ten.

So you're twenty thousand

down each month.

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