In between 24 and 28 inches of TV/New project of Bem YPAC


 ” I wrote the script in Canada, it was March of 2007. The script based on a true story that happened to me in a small town called Oakville which is located very close to Toronto. A random meeting with a German woman in Shoes Store cause me lots of thoughts about marriages and divorces, about love and it’s lost. I was wondering what is each one’s role to make one’s family happy.


The story is written from different prospectives. It’s sort of confrontation of two different backgrounds, mentalities and types of a woman.”


” I truly believe one can enjoy reading this story as well as watching the film soon. ” – says author.      




I’m tired… — this was the short answer to the question of why they were separating…


I am a curious person, not in the sense that I like to stick my nose in other people’s business, I simply try to know as much as I possibly can about people’s relationships. I am always a supporter of conversation and because I also have a propensity for listening that woman opened up to me like a book. There was no Anna Karenina’s exaggerated passion in her story. It was more a sorrowful story, about how, in our everyday lives, we lose the most definitive of human sentiments. We waited till the coffee was ready. Each one of us picked up a paper cup, full of four hundred calorie cofee, and began to look for a table. We took a small table near a window.  I love windows, one day when I own a house, it’ll be one with big windows, full of sunlight. 


I’m looking at her, she’s pretty, even now with fifty-six years engraved on her face.


    This is good coffee, – I say. I don’t mean it, I just say it to start a conversation.

    Yes, it really is good,– she confirms, its obvious that she’s enjoying her coffee; – I like the strong smell of coffee at Starbucks, I don’t like to drink coffee anywhere else. 

    Smell isn’t important, for me taste is important։ I like homemade coffee prepared in a jazzve, you can’t find that in Canada.


I thought to myself. «This woman will never understand what jazzve coffee is and why it tastes better. Evidently it wasn’t even worth telling her that in Europe they call that type of coffee Turkish, though it comes from arabic countries. And that I call this coffee exclusively homemade or black coffee and that I get terribly irritated when someone offers me Turkish coffee, because I’m Armenian.» Apparently my silence lasted a long while. She lifted her eyebrow, maybe to get my attention, and began to speak…




 March 2007 Ontario, Canada



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