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Total Posts: 489
Joined: Mar 2005
Posted: 2020-05-21 22:05
The wall looked entirely uniform if just icy, wooden, dark. The building opposite to my right down this dark passage was just made of communist broken concrete without doors or windows.

The building on my right was only two yards away. The fresh, white powder snow squeaked under my hiking boots. The 100ml of vodka and a gherkin which I paid for whatever passed as a dollar did the trick to warm my belly over the road before.

Like everywhere in Belarus it was hard to determine what was open and what was dead. I saw the speakeasy eye-level sliding grates in the little night light affording by the buildings light above. I pushed against the wall – the door – and it opened. I went up the dark stairs without any smell which doubled back on themselves to reach the next floor. Inside was the dull, quiet tones of some crappy Russian music and a near toothless 60-year-old in the dark at the bar with many empty red leather seats around while he drank Borscht with an empty shot glass next to him.

The girl behind the bar looked bored until she saw me a Western foreigner, a Triple Nine Pole. I had finally made it in Baranovichi and had lost my tail.

All the soul of man is resolution, which in valiant men falters never, until their last breath.
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