Last night, she MOST HARD (continued, p.2) It became difficult to breathe, and a chill ran down his back. My face is numb. Cry burst from my chest. When I stopped screaming, I have a fever, and I was not myself. The drunk who was lying on a bench behind me, saw a couple took my stuff. I went cold in the chest. Now, when I walked up and down the carriage, the people who did not prevent thieves to pick up my belongings, gathered around me. A man in a sports jacket, said that I pulled the lever and caused the conductor. Jig someone rang the bell. At the next station in the car sat a policeman. The train did not move. The policeman called me over to her and other passengers were seated immediately in its place. Tver. Old photo. I was told that the police should behave with caution, if you stop. I have never read about the evil which she spreads on the territory of the Russian Federation and those of my friends who have visited Russia, and this is not said no words. But many Russian with whom I spoke this year, said that the police had not enjoyed the best ways in his work: extorts money from people and imprisoned innocent people for money to rescue them from there. She hated everything from Vladikavkaz to Vladivostok, which is why no one woke me and when I pulled out the laptop. Adrenaline, which ran at a time through my veins, my mind is blunted. I'm not afraid of a man in plain green uniforms, to the extent to which I ought to do it. I knew it was useless to look for thieves in a maze of eerie residential streets of the city Kryukovo, and more than anything to me never occurred. The man said goodbye to me, saying that in the future, I was more cautious, punched in the face drunk who smoked in the vestibule, and descended to the platform. In my laptop and camera were hundreds of pictures that I made a year spent in Russia. Numbers of all the people I met were in memory of my phone. During the latter part of the trip on the impoverished suburbs of Moscow in front of me with tears. After midnight the train arrived in Moscow, the Leningrad station. Weak yellow lights cast an eerie light on the platform on her there was no one except a few emaciated dog that darted into the shadows. The air was cool and unfriendly. Helen was not there. I imagined how many times she called me that evening, before sitting down to the last subway train, which took her on color Blvd. I sat on my suitcase and looked around the platform. I found myself in a huge, barely familiar city, the only person there who I knew to call did not, in my pocket, I had only a few hundred rubles, and seats for the night was not. Hands, I wiped the blood. Metro and other urban transport will not go. Before the morning was not even a question that I get on the Kiev railway station. My suitcase drew to my attention. I began to tremble at the thought of that night in Moscow roam hundreds of gangs of skinheads. I thought, what would make that pair, if I woke up as they rummaged in my pockets? And I again began to tremble. I used to more than three days in Moscow, never was. The city I had imagined only as a kind of fragmented memories: skating at the rink in Gorky Park with friends, talking with Helen in the pizzeria, which is attended by expatriates, singing hymns in French in the Catholic Church, which is the prison in the Lubyanka. I did not have enough knowledge about Moscow in order to provide, where to go. Tourists can appreciate the culture of cities, but only those who live in them, know how they work. From the shadow of two men appeared, they slowly approached me. I found them ugly green uniforms and hats. I told them in broken "in Russian, what happened to me on the train. Then, I sheepishly asked if they would help me find accommodation. They were told to follow them. We entered the station building, and fell into the waiting room. Hall was a big old room with high ceilings. There is almost no one was, only a few weary passengers sat silently on wooden benches. The two men spoke with a woman who stood behind the desk in the corner. They told me that I need a place till the morning. She replied that I can not stay in the room, if I do not have a train ticket, which will depart the next day. I asked myself why in today's Russia, people have no compassion for strangers. This for me was a mystery how and why they have hypertrophied sense of hospitality toward friends. I realized that help from strangers should not be expected when as a fall in Yaroslavl, I stumbled on the street a young man with his throat cut. Many simply step over his body, until I switched sides and asked the shop owner to call an ambulance. Having heard that the street person dies, the woman behind the counter at first dusted with cash and then went to the phone. We left the station and were on an unlit parking lot. Man, that was big trouble, pushed me in the back seat of their car. My suitcase was put in the trunk. Start material: Read more:
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