First Ten Minutes in Russia

Domodedovo airport, Moscow, is kept secure by thin security guards topped by comically oversized military hats that cast shadows beyond their shoulders. The women guards wear improbable miniskirts complemented by thigh-high black leather boots with stiletto heals. There is a camouflaged soldier in one corner of the hall with a sagging belly & an equally sagging face. He protects the display of a luxury car that he will never be able to afford. There is a girl in the line with an exaggerated lolita look, sporting braids and denim shorts cut-off so high that you notice more camel-toe than fabric. There are many broad-faced people from central asia with smiles of golden teeth. The hustlers of unofficial taxis have the puffy faces of chronic inebriates. The airport terminal itself is futuristic glass tube; it is both still under construction and already falling apart, bare wires hang and tiles are missing. My mobile phone displays the network name in cyrillic, it could say anything, since I can't pronounce it. Same with all advertisements, it's all striving to sell something, but it's not clear exactly what. Outside there are random gashes in the ground, as if they couldn't figure out where to put the parking lots and tried a few different spots. A copse of trees survived the development. Airport employees have created an improvised park here with furniture made from stumps. Lovers kiss in a warm spring breeze heavy with diesel fumes. Insects and ants are swarming with the energy of creatures that have waited patiently through the frozen months. Although it is 9pm�the sun is high in the sky.