5/8 : radio

Apartment one hundred and thirty-fifth, seventh floor. Boris is hopelessly glued to the multi-colored Christmas garlands in the windows of the panel building across the street. He is mortally tired of the hustle and bustle of late December and has sinking deeper and deeper into memories of New Year's Eve of 1992. The dining table was set in the living room. The air smelled of boiled potatoes, cigarette smoke, and sparkling wine. Uncle Oleg has pulled out his guitar, while aunt Vika was loudly complaining to his mother about another troublesome boyfriend. he could see his father inexplicably handing money to Santa Claus. A few minutes later, Boris would read a poem to this deeply inebriated man in a scarlet robe with little enthusiasm and receive a small LEGO set with an airplane as a gift. The magic of the holiday had, of course, fallen apart at that moment, but everything felt not so hopeless after all while he holding the box with a bunch of colorful plastic pieces in his small hands. And the only thing that could give him that same feeling right now was a bit of drum-and-bass in a mix Nepogodin for 5/8: radio.