Part one.
That night I was late at work as usual. Well, to be honest it became normal for me to finish my work at 00.30. You know, you can’t complain about your schedule when you are not only the owner of the recording studio but also its administrator, sound director, secretary and part-time cleaner. Musicians had played their set and went home.
I went outside. It was a clear February night. As my chances to take a bus were close to zero I decided to walk back home. Probably it will be faster. Usually I took Elektrozavodskaya street, from Preobrazhenskaya square to Elektrozavodskiy bridge, but that night for some reason I decided to go down to Yauza and walk along it to Semyonovsaya embankment right to my home. Sometimes I walked this route in summer, but I can’t say that I really liked it. In fact, I didn’t use this route a lot, just a couple of times for the last five years.
I was walking on Rusakovskaya embankment along the tram rails to the centre side. I’d grown up in this area, knew it as my five fingers and knew everybody there, whom I should know to walk safely in that time of day. I didn’t pay so much attention to the three guys walking towards me and took out a pack of “Russian Style” and lit a cigarette. As soon as they came nearer I heard:
D’u have a cigarette? – Those guys stopped next to me.
No problem. – I took out the pack again and pulled out a cigarette.
Hey, can I have two more?
Sure. I pulled out two more cigarettes and handed them to him. I thought to myself that I hadn’t met any of them before that night. Those guys were obviously not local.
Hey, bro, do you have any change? – “Wow, their demands were growing, first cigarettes, now financial aid”. This situation started annoying me.
Sorry guys, I don’t, I wish somebody gave me some. - I put my pack back into the pocket and went forward passing the guys making clear that our conversation was over.
Hey, wait, let’s talk. - One of them grabbed my jacket’s sleeve and pulled me back trying to put me in front of them.
What the hell are you doing? – I pulled my sleeve back. – Get off!
I didn’t foresee further turn of events. I was quite a perky teen, at the age of 14 I got full independence from my parents, lived on my own and very often got into fights and other troubles. But those days had been forgotten long ago. Last 10 years I lived a regular life of a musician. At least I didn’t spit nails and tried to avoid any criminal. Actually, I didn’t even remember the last time I fought. Make a long story short, I got too relaxed.
A punch to my head became a surprise to me. I staggered but remained standing. I bent down and closed head with arms trying to keep balance and be ready to defense. Next moment I saw a brown boot flying to my face. That punch took me across the hands, but it was so strong I couldn’t hold it and got my teeth and nose stricken. Tears splashed from my eyes, mouth was full of viscous salty and familiar liquid – my nose and my upper lip were broken. By old, long-forgotten habit I licked the back side of my front teeth checking if they were still their places. Next moment another struck in my head, I didn’t even get what I was hit with. Falling forward I stretched my arms to protect the head.
I saw clean, white snow in front of my face and didn’t know why, but it seemed funny to me. I recollected all those fights I had got involved in youth and felt like I was in my past life 20 years ago, when my fellows and I went to next hoods to fight with locals and show who was the coolest band in the area. Yeah, it was a usual run of things that time; it was the 90’s. I smiled and spitted out the blood from my mouth, it covered the snow with a pattern. The next hit would be the last. I saw already familiar boot. Struck. Silence. Darkness.
To be continued...
