“…See that guy with a gold bracelet propping up the bar, with a blonde on each arm? That’s Ivan. See the guy at the corner table, puffing clouds of smoke while snapping instructions into his mobile phone? That’s Ivan’s mate, Nikolai. See the guy with bulging biceps squiring the blowsy redhead in the see-through shirt? That’s Ivan’s mate Nikolai’s minder, Boris. And, yes, that is a gun in his armpit, just above the tiger tattoo…” Continue reading this story.
NOTE: My only prolonged encouter with a true Russian was a beautiful neighbor friend of my mom (who’s Swedish). I was friends with her son, who was my age, around eleven or so and I remember one day after I slept over she offered me hard-boiled eggs and vodka for breakfast. It wasn’t exactly Cap’n Crunch but it was pretty good.