никогда до конца не пройти мне тебя

Arbat – not a street which changing people notice. Wanna notice. It’s still a street of beginning and middle of centure, it’s still a street of artists, of writers, it’s still a street we walked up so much, we read so much. It’s a street with old yellow lights and unique atmosphere. People love Arbat so much they write it down in poems and on it’s walls.
I write so much about Arbat too.

When day was ending I was slowly passing Arbat. I overheard. Kitchen, tarins, fairplaces and Arbat are still places where Russian can have their metaphysic philosophy conversations:

- he doesn’t believe in God, he is atheist. But Marx and Engels are Gods for him. Ok, I got it with Engels, but Marx?!...

- U’re here but there is no u here. We disappear so much from the very moment, leaving body without consciousness, that I think unwittingly – where ur consciousness hanged about during all ur life…

- I tell u, that Ethiopia is African alter-ego of Russia! even time there is Moscow one. And Vitte dreamed to join it to Russia. And... what to say, they ve got the same problems with roads!

- Who told u that everything gonna be fine?

- To believe everything that going on - u have to be absolutely fool…

May be u will have ur answers here? Hugo told time he spent just sitting on piazzas and watching people, the most wonferful and useful in his life. That were the most wonderful and useful of my day, though…