Lenin Street, (continued)
The smell of smoldering fire hangs over Lenin Street. Piles of leaves mixed with garbage, their centers glowing dull orange, throw off columns of pungent smoke. Somehow the smell is familiar: not quite pleasant, but oddly comforting.


Sellers set up their wares on overturned boxes and sit patiently on small folding stools as people stroll by. Cigarettes, mittens, boots, toilet paper, medicines, sweaters, children's toys: everything is for sale, everything is negotiable. Old women sell three-liter jars packed full of colorful berries: purple, yellow, black, red. They crack open sunflower seeds with silver-capped teeth and spit the shells onto the sidewalk.



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