The story of my leather bracelet
When I was 18, terrible news erupted: my favorite rock musician Victor Tsoi was killed in a car crash. He was only 28 (missed the “27 club” by mere 2 months). Devastated fans did not have the internet to communicate (it was 1990), however, on Arbat Street in Moscow they had occupied a windowless wall of a one story plain building to visually express their sorrows and unite with the likeminded. I need to tell you that Arbat Street is an old cobblestone street, lined up by theaters, stores and historical houses where famous people used to live. This street was made pedestrian only in the 1980s and since then the counter-culture youth hang out in this beautiful area. Traditionally (stemming from the Orthodox Church) the deceased were remembered on the 9th day following death. And for such remembrance people were gathered at the Tsoi Wall. I was one of them. It was a large cowd of singing, crying, mourning young people from various parts of the USSR (it still existed). At one point, I...