Bogi te, kto ne proigryvaet v kulachki
en
translation: Gods are those who do not lose in fists
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Thirteen stories about the pressures of confinement in a wonderful paradise. Paradise ended beyond the football field. There, on a long platform, thrown like a gray tape between the tracks, was its edge. The railway end of everything. Trait. A silent abyss, occasionally shouting with the caustic beeps of commuters and ambulances: “If the ball flies in, don’t look for it,” and frightening with its gouged out light bulb eyes, blue and soulless. We didn't go there."
