Viljandi is where I am today. It’s not so bad, even though it’s gray and somber, the chill of winter biting at the holes in your socks, that kind of thing. The Estonians too are extra tetchy, extra bitchy, because they know all of their summertime fun time is over and now comes the Big Dark before the Big Cold. When they drank beer in the summer it was fun, but now it’s kind of like for survival. I had a squash soup at the Rohelise Maja Kohvik, got to see Enn in the streets, gave his sister a peck on both cheeks. It’s so easy to flatter these Estonians, they are so unused to expressions of affection. Her cheeks got all rosy with blush. “Hey, how old is your sister?” I asked Enn. “I dunno, a hundred.” Probably. The atmosphere inside is always soothing to me, loving to me. One never feels safer in his skin than when he’s eating some squash soup and Jalmar Vabarna from Zetod stumbles through the door. I can relax around these musician types, these poets, these designers. I can breathe. I can breathe in Viljandi. I don’t care if my püksilukk is lahti here. Let my fly be down. Have a look.