syutkin, stelaga from moscow. between two cultures, he is again behind the curb, and you are for. curb, you haven’t seen the white nights and sides of petrograd, he doesn’t know khitrov’s creations, bulgakov’s prince, he will never be able to walk you to the front door, and you won’t know what entrance to his house is, but your moscow won’t have one either. there is something in common, probably you, from the light, he is gloomy, rather two cultures, he is again behind the curb, and you are behind the curb, you will hear how tenderly the mariinsky harp sounds, he will see a different malevich in light colors, you will get used to it in winter keep warm with a zenit scarf. he will walk through the palace in your red and white pants, because your moscow and his neva have become common. someone, probably you, has faded, he is gloomy, more like two cultures, he is again a fence, and you are behind the curb, your moscow, and his not, has become common, something, your moscow and his would not have become something in c