Life in Moscow, the gym as a zone of existential torment, fights with morality and the struggle for eggs - all this in one bottle of fatigue and absurdity, where even barbershops turn into midlife crisis clubs with the obligatory whiskey and PlayStation. Between the stories about gypsies and psychics slips anxiety from the inability to control reality, and traveling only confirms: the real cuisine - only Moscow. And if aliens have abandoned us, we ourselves are not in much of a hurry to find them, preferring to fantasize about life and lie to ourselves about the pool.
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