Couple

First, I got one. The frost was approaching, so I decided I had to protect my body somehow, especially my hands, even though they were already so worn out. But it was only by chance that I found myself walking down Marszałkowska Street, thinking about where I hadn't been before... For cans, of course. It all started five years ago, when I lost my job—the first large state-owned enterprise in Poland had collapsed. "Capitalism," they said, when they gave us a pittance when we left. "Capitalism," I thought, "what the f... is that?" I'd heard so many good things about it—we'd been waiting for it for years, and now it's finally here. I have no job, no apartment, only one glove..."

Because that's exactly what I wanted to tell you about. My life and my entire past are behind me. Well, maybe it's silly, but it is what it is, I have to accept it and fight my problems. This damn November is taking its toll. I stopped at another bench as I started loading a few aluminum cans into my bag. On the bench lay a single, black, but almost new glove. It was probably made of leather. Why there was only one—I don't know? It was probably lost—but now I was its proud owner. Even though it was the only one... It warmed my hand very well—it was the prettiest thing I owned. I put it in my pocket—I wouldn't be wearing one, after all. And it would wear out anyway. So, as I continued wandering around the city center, passing many interesting, sometimes funny people, I started thinking about the owner of my "treasure." He was definitely a rich guy—at least he could afford gloves like that. He's made a fortune in this capitalism... I went to the dealership, and unfortunately, the ten złoty I received wasn't enough to buy a quarter for myself and Jurek. The fact is, we pooled our money into wine, and we were happy too. My regular place—Ms. Agnieszka's, where I could even wash myself, was almost full today. For those few złoty, I have a place to stay—and in the summer... It's warm outside in the summer—sometimes I even traveled outside Warsaw. Jurek collected a considerable haul today—he managed to sell various old things in antique shops. He made about three ten złoty. But he didn't want to contribute for the quarter. I told him about my find, but he wasn't interested. I thought it might be worth buying a normal pair... But then I wouldn't have enough money to live on. Oh well, I have one. I only wore it occasionally. Back then—when I found it, it was late November. I had one hand in my pocket, and the other proudly wandered the streets, through the city I'd always known. It was getting colder and colder. St. Nicholas Day had passed. I always tried to celebrate this day somehow. When I had no one to give a gift to, I'd surprise myself. This year, a whole half-liter. I'm not a drinker, but what can I do with my life? I used to try to figure things out—looking for something new, a job, a new life... I found it... So Christmas Eve was slowly approaching—that beautiful time. Everything was always shiny and sparkling, and it was more pleasant to walk around the city. I was crossing the street—as always, trying to spot something useful—and I saw... It was dirty. Discarded, lonely... I already had my second glove. I couldn't tell its color—it was all muddy. When I returned to "my place" under the tap, I saw it in its dark green form. It was a bit too small... It didn't matter, I thought—it's mine. From then on, I could walk freely in two gloves. The frosty days had long since arrived, but I was very happy—I had a complete set. Each one, besides its appearance, had a different character for me. The left one—dark green—was always the same. I rarely took it off. It was so "quiet, modest," but always by my side. The right one—leather—shimmered,When the snow fell and the winter sun filtered through the streets. Sometimes it was ugly—when it rained—and sometimes it froze—as if it were dying for a moment. It didn't warm my hand then; it was stiff and unpleasant. On nice days, however, it was always the warmer, more elegant one. I had sentimental attachment to both. I must admit, I grew attached to them. Even though they were completely different—to me, they were a pair. I always took off the leather one when I lit a cigarette, and the dark green one when I collected my payment. Whenever I returned to Mrs. Agnieszka's for the night, I stuffed them deep into my pockets. They helped me with my "work," protected me, and yet each of them was different. Both were favorites, both brought me equal joy, but... well, exactly—they were like friends. Some are quiet, calm, don't push your luck, but stick by your side and remain faithful forever. Others, though you get along wonderfully with them, though they have many other friends, though they can fight for everything they need, are fickle. They are nervous, constantly on the move. My right glove waved, picked up, and put down, unlike the dark green one, which stayed calmly by my side, offering little help to its partner, but was there—warming my hand. That's how I spent all of December, January, and February in scuffed pants, a leaky jacket, a hooded sweatshirt of a nondescript color, and my gloves. The weather was getting nicer, the temperatures hadn't dropped below freezing in ages, and I was still clinging to my gloves as I walked the city streets in them. But the time was coming—I decided it was time for them. I promised myself, only two more days. Although I rarely took them off, they were now becoming uncomfortable at work. I had to take them off. I managed to get a job at a construction site, where I carried cement. As always, I stuffed the gloves into my pockets. Evening was approaching—my work was almost over. After I collected my payment, I set off. That restless spirit vanished. That nervous, rebellious "skin" vanished. I searched for it for a long time. I longed for it to start snowing and for me to see it shimmering in the streetlight. I longed for it to freeze and for me to find it hard as stone. But it wasn't there. I returned for the night—the cold days had vanished—spring had arrived. I was left with a single dark green glove in my pocket, a little too small... but just right for my taste.But...well, exactly—they were like friends. Some are quiet, calm, don't push each other with their fists, but stick by you and will always be faithful, while others, even though you get along with them perfectly, even though they have many other friends, even though they can fight for everything they need, are fickle. They are nervous, constantly on the move. My right glove waved, picked up, put down, unlike the dark green one, which stayed calmly by my side, not helping its partner much, but was there—warming my hand. That's how I spent all of December, January, and February in scuffed pants, a leaky jacket, a hooded sweatshirt of a nondescript color, and my gloves. The weather was getting nicer, the temperatures hadn't dropped below freezing in a long time, and I was still clinging to my gloves as I walked the city streets in them. But the time was coming—I decided it was time for them. I promised myself, only two more days. Although I rarely took them off, they were now becoming uncomfortable at work. I had to take them off. I managed to get a job at a construction site, where I carried cement. As always, I stuffed the gloves into my pockets. Evening was approaching—my work was almost over. After I collected my payment, I set off. That restless spirit vanished. That nervous, rebellious "skin" vanished. I searched for it for a long time. I longed for it to start snowing and for me to see it shimmering in the streetlight. I longed for it to freeze and for me to find it hard as stone. But it wasn't there. I returned for the night—the cold days had vanished—spring had arrived. I was left with a single dark green glove in my pocket, a little too small... but just right for my taste.But...well, exactly—they were like friends. Some are quiet, calm, don't push each other with their fists, but stick by you and will always be faithful, while others, even though you get along with them perfectly, even though they have many other friends, even though they can fight for everything they need, are fickle. They are nervous, constantly on the move. My right glove waved, picked up, put down, unlike the dark green one, which stayed calmly by my side, not helping its partner much, but was there—warming my hand. That's how I spent all of December, January, and February in scuffed pants, a leaky jacket, a hooded sweatshirt of a nondescript color, and my gloves. The weather was getting nicer, the temperatures hadn't dropped below freezing in a long time, and I was still clinging to my gloves as I walked the city streets in them. But the time was coming—I decided it was time for them. I promised myself, only two more days. Although I rarely took them off, they were now becoming uncomfortable at work. I had to take them off. I managed to get a job at a construction site, where I carried cement. As always, I stuffed the gloves into my pockets. Evening was approaching—my work was almost over. After I collected my payment, I set off. That restless spirit vanished. That nervous, rebellious "skin" vanished. I searched for it for a long time. I longed for it to start snowing and for me to see it shimmering in the streetlight. I longed for it to freeze and for me to find it hard as stone. But it wasn't there. I returned for the night—the cold days had vanished—spring had arrived. I was left with a single dark green glove in my pocket, a little too small... but just right for my taste.For it to start snowing and I'd see her shimmering in the streetlight. I dreamed she'd freeze and I'd find her as hard as stone. But she wasn't there. I returned for the night—the cold days had vanished—spring had begun. I was left with a single dark green glove in my pocket, a bit too small... But just right for my taste.For it to start snowing and I'd see her shimmering in the streetlight. I dreamed she'd freeze and I'd find her as hard as stone. But she wasn't there. I returned for the night—the cold days had vanished—spring had begun. I was left with a single dark green glove in my pocket, a bit too small... But just right for my taste.