The foreign neighbors gave me this and wished me a pleasant appetite: but it’s something hard and not at all like food, more like an egg.
At first, I was even scared.
The neighbors are foreigners; we hardly communicate, we just greet each other in the elevator. And then one evening, there’s a knock at the door. They’re standing there, smiling, handing me a bag and saying in Russian with an accent:
Enjoy your meal!
I look inside — and there it is… this. Dark, hard, strange things, as if from a museum or a dinosaur movie. They don’t look edible at all. In my hands they’re cold, like stones. I even smelled them — almost no scent.
Is this… food? I asked cautiously.
They nodded, smiling even wider, and left.
I stood in the kitchen for a long time with that bag. Thoughts were spinning in my head: What if this isn’t meant to be eaten at all? What if it’s a joke? What if I’m missing something very important? Putting it in the fridge felt scary; throwing it away felt awkward.
