We get drunk and by morning, we’re putting our arms around each other and belting out Komsomol songs at the top of our lungs: “Komsomol youth, volunteers…/ Our mighty friendship is our strength…” We remember the trips we took “digging potatoes” and funny anecdotes from army life. In short, we reminisce about the Soviet era. Do you understand? Our conversations always end the same way: “It’s a mess out there. We need a Stalin.” Even though all of us, as I’ve already told you, have made it. What’s that about?
