“Just think: becoming a terrorist in old age! Old age - for a woman it comes at eighteen, and I’m already thirty-five, an old woman, a very old woman, and then there; I jump like a girl - ah-ah, love - I play cat and mouse with the state. Why the hell did we start all this: secret meetings, passions that make emotesters go off scale, and the police are knocked off their feet, hide and seek, as if free time is the only thing we have? But then I remembered his hands, possessively pressing him lips kissing quickly and passionately, his eyes blue, like those of the son of Poseidon. A wave of desire ran through my body, and a groan involuntarily escaped, fortunately muffled by the clang of wheels. My lower abdomen filled with heaviness. For a month and a half, don’t kiss, hug, touch, smell, or even look! A month and a half of suffering and tossing, and now I’m ready to risk my life again...”