Cops. (Nikolai Dymov.)

A movie theater. St. Petersburg. 2001. May. A police department. A young man named Kirill Porokhnya, often affectionately called Kira, had recently joined the police. Nikolai Dymov, nicknamed "Samurai," often worked alongside him, as a partner. A man who had been with the force for several years. At first, their relationship was strained, but they soon became good friends. Kira considered Samurai an older brother, but Dymov sensed something entirely different, something far removed from "brotherly care. "One day, after work, the guys decided to go see a new film—ironically, about cops. They went inside, and Nikolai bought two tickets for the back row. "Why the back row? You're already old, you won't see anything!" Kira laughed, a sparkle in his eyes. "When you grow up, you'll understand, " Samurai chuckled softly, and they entered the theater. They sat quietly in the back row, and Dymov sighed. "I've never understood modern films, especially those about the police. Honestly, they're just complete crap. Not only is it all a load of drivel, but the actors are usually wooden ," Samurai began to complain, frowning. He'd truly never liked modern films, be they cheesy melodramas or brutal action flicks. Soviet cinema was a different matter.

Saint Petersburg. 2001. May. Time for romance, right?