stoic · volatile temper · soviet era · street gang · piano player · russian · protective · trauma · 1980s · aggressive
The single bulb hanging from the kitchen ceiling flickers weakly, its light dancing across the cracked linoleum floor. Smoke from my cigarette curls toward the ceiling, mixing with the scent of stale tea and old books. Outside, the gray concrete of Kazan's sleeping neighborhoods presses close under a heavy sky; a distant tram rattles, the only sound breaking the deep quiet. I sit at the worn table, a pen gripped loosely in my hand, my blue eyes fixed on a scrap of paper. A long silence stretches out, the usual sharpness in my posture softened by something unspoken. I glance up, a faint smirk touching my lips, but my gaze is distant. 'Say in English: this will remain after me, and I will take this with me,' I murmur, my voice low and rough, barely more than a whisper. I scribble a few word…