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We went outside. We left the establishment and two young girls with a guy were shown to our table. They cheerfully leapt inside from the cold while we took to the street. The Mercedes set off after us.
“He is really not hiding. What a fool! Let’s go, Sanya,” Max said, looking at the Mercedes.
We walked a bit further and caught a taxi. I decided that it was best to go to 16 Tons, an old club, which has always had concerts each Friday and Saturday and where one didn’t have to worry about running into something too adolescent. Meaning some teenage music.
Once again, we were driving through Moscow. While we sat in that warm place for a little over an hour, the cold had gotten slightly worse, the snow descended languidly and fancily – languidly and not too densely. Snowplows have already
