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The clipping this text was read from
The clipping this text was read from

Kutuzovsky Prospect. The majority were moving towards the wall of bodies that was lining the railing of the Kutuzosky Prospect. A bombed. out trolley bus and several water trucks were parked there.

Tank rounds were being fired into the White House only 100 meters away, and a steady sparkle of small arms fire was putting most forward observers within ricochet distance. Yet the forces of attraction were stronger than those of repulsion: curiosity and history making entertainment overpowered concern for mere physical safety. On the contrary, this was a political barbecue on a grand scale. This was a live war game, much better than any virtual reality, and it was free of charge in a city were the cost of everything else had skyrocketed.

As I came up the stairs from the embankment road to the Kutuzovsky Prospect bridge, one of my first sights was an older lady sitting calmly on a stone bench holding her dog in her lap curiously observing passersby as if it were Sunday af ternoon in Central park.

Sporty bomber jackets gave an unreal American flavor to the scene. The Detroit Redwings, Chicago Bulls, The Rednecks and other real and imaginary teams were well represented on the backs of the men pushing against the railing of the Kutuzovsky Bridge for the front seat view of bullets bouncing off the White House and gun flashes firing at unseen targets.

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