Trekhprudny Lane

Dinner was absolutely delightful and I am a stupid belly-acher. (Interestingly, the restaurant is home to a dog, a cat, a canary and a beta fish.)

So much for the American bail-out; so much for the pleasure of watching things get done. What happens now?

Add to the list of things I love about Russia: construction sites, because of the small domestic corner they all seem to have... a sink or a shower of rigged spare pipes or perhaps just a bucket and bar of soap, where the workers wash up at the end of the day, and always a clothesline, where they hang their indigo blue coveralls to dry overnight after washing them out by hand in the evening. Walking by these small makeshift kitchens, so masculine and so alike from one end of the city to the next, and often lit at night by a bare bulb plugged into the project's unfinished wiring, I get a feeling of coziness.