Notschniu Bufet

One night in Russia, in the night train, leaving Vologda, direction Arkhangelsk, without any food, and a drunken waitress in the bufet, we felt lost.
There was no potatoe puree left for us, only fish, but we found some friends, who opened their pockets, ordered hotdogs for us, gave us some softdrinks. We were grateful and enjoyed it.
Some of us did not join the group 100 percent, but after some private minutes they understood the meaningful gestures.
Their excuses were accepted and the vivid discussion continued.
We finished the last cups and plates, cleaned the table...


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