On a cabinet made of real pine, boxes full of beads glistened, and on a snow-white lace tablecloth, a black violin glistened, bitten by the teeth of time. The crude bed was bursting at the seams with fluffy cushions and bedding, glad that soon they would no longer be alone. It is only a matter of time before Kalina removes her false eyelashes and colourful hairpiece from her head, washes off her lips twice her own size and removes the lenses from her eyes, then she will look so familiar again, one brown pupil, the other green, and cover her freckled cheeks with a healthy carmine blush and a tear full of relief. Only her fingernails will be ashamed of her, for the violin will once again beg her to take it in her hands, but she will only refuse silently and tuck her hands under her knees, curl up, and then fall asleep in Szczyrk and wake up there.

Today, a client asked Kalina about this 'original powder box' sticking out of the pocket of her cashmere jumper. She quickly concealed her confusion and assured her that it was a tester of a new cosmetic from abroad and, if it took hold in our reality, she would personally try to get it introduced to the salon. The powder box, which by some unusual means had always accompanied Kalina, although it had long since been locked away in a pine cabinet, was in fact a box the size of the inside of her hand, intricately decorated with a rustic pattern. This folkloric ornament was fortunately not too visible to this cucumber-eyed woman. Under the round lid of the box there were eyes too, two pairs of eyes to be exact, a huge basket of bread and a pot of berries and a great, never-spoken request to Kalina, a request full of hidden despair and longing.