Saratov

May 26–28, 2013

I love coming to Saratov.

With its architecture.

With compositions in the windows.

With open manholes.

With old Soviet constructions on the lampposts.

With postmodern parodies of street lamps.

With hammers and sickles on the fences.

With first floors that have sunk below ground but refuse to surrender.

With relatively new street name signs.

Michurina Street

With charming old street name signs.

Grandmother Way

With mailboxes in the courtyards.

With surviving plaques.

In case of fire, call 01

With requests not to hammer stakes into the ground.

Electrical cable. Do not dig. Do not hammer in pipes, stakes. Danger of death

With old plaques indicating distances to municipal sewage manholes.

Do not dig! Do not hammer in stakes, pipes. Electrical cable. Danger of death!

With people’s communication.

Don’t park—I’m coming home! Beware of the dog

With trash dumpsters.

With unbelievable triangular trash cans.

With buttons to summon an employee for help getting a wheelchair up the steps at every other store.

With old pleasant buildings.

With new hideous buildings.

With children playing on old cars in the courtyards.

With free-growing hemp.

With ads for prostitutes in building stairwells.

With Wi-Fi advertised in nearly every establishment.

With wonderful views of the Volga River.

Cocksuckers

I love coming to Saratov.