I came in to the Writer's Union, which since before the holidays I have not frequented, and nearly mistook the office for another because they had renovated and painted the office lavender. Chilaajav asked me why I don't come in anymore and I told him the truth--drunk men come in to talk to the person I share the office with and tell me and my teacher to lave if we make any noise, it's cold, and there's no internet or even computer. He said I'd have my own office, then, but I knew not to believe him. He said the President of Mongolia asked him to translate five books of lit and asked me for other translators' names to help but not me. It's okay; Akim's book wasn't out yet. At the table that day was a man who decided to give me an impromptu lesson in translation and wrote down a poem for me to translate into Mongolian:
"I want to play a politic. I have sun's horse. I have star's dream."
I remember the guy's name anymore but I remember his lines.