Daily Prompt: Journey

Daily Prompt: Journey

Daily Prompt: Journey

Too cool for school. Most humans wouldn’t even believe it; but then again, most humans wouldn’t believe it was too cool for school, either. It was Moscow, USSR a long time ago, or so it seems, under Brezhnev, Andropov, and Chernenko. The dollar/ruble exchange rate was nearly ridiculously low and on a few occasions westerners were able to feast on caviar and champagne till we were silly, not that anybody who was feasting on fish eggs, drunk on champagne and watching Tchaikovsky wasn’t already silly. Moscow was sorta like a page out of a 1920s F. Scott Fitzgerald book, The Great One! However, Moscow was mostly soaked in vodka, but 1920s New York had both vodka and gin, but in Moscow there was just communism. In New York it was a buffet of communism, a lot of capitalism, socialism, and there were more gangsters and immigrants who could teach you whatever else you could ever possibly want to enjoy. In New York, mostly capitalism, but we also had socialism and communism! Gee, if I could go back in time, it sounds like New York in the 20s would be sorta nice, so long as you could avoid the gangsters and crooked cops and crooked politicians.  That would be a journey in itself, eh? In Moscow it was Stoli and…well, I guess it was like it except there wasn’t enough gin flowing. GIN! GIN! GIN! And a whole lot of capitalism. Other than that, New York and Moscow were pretty much the same.  As  A college kid, in a real foreign place in a real foreign time it was all sorta foreign every step of the way. It was one hell of a journey for all of us sucking down little pancakes laced with caviar. Unfortunately, the KGB, the Soviet Secret Service didn’t really see it that way, at least then. Maybe they were simply allowed just a bit too much power than their lil’ heads could handle. Perhaps, it was a sensory overload or something. When the Wall fell, that must have been sorta devastating for that guy, the KGB guy who made his living from butting heads with teen-aged red heads. Today. that guy can probably be found somewhere on the Russian steppe or under some door step near the GUM department store in Moscow with a bottle of Stoli in one hand as he sits trying to chisel another wall with his makeshift hammer and sickle. Other than the occasional run-in with the police, which most Americans tried to stay away from, the school of hard knocks was pretty much limited to scouring Red Square, traveling the city from end to end by cab and bus 3 or 4 times daily. Eating, talking and living Russian was more than a way of life it was a blast. If it was done right it was a blast. Sure, if you did a bit too much screwing up; well, you’d most likely be screwed royally by yourself and anybody who looks like you; and, of course, anybody who just felt like they could get away with messin’ with you. It was a real journey then, before the wall fell.                


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